The Color of Hate
by RSEA
Summary: My version of a Green Hornet story I've had since first seeing the TV show. It mixes some of the classic elements we know and love with new twists for today's audiences.
1. Mixing Business and Pleasure

Author's Notes:

What I've written is an adaptation of the T.V. show – not based on the radio, movie serials or the NOW comic book series – where I've touched / updated many elements familiar to us all or changed them outright, as if I were writing a movie treatment for today's audience. Or as they say in Hollywood 're-imagined' (since 'remake' seems now to be politically incorrect).

The Green Hornet TV show was generous on action – thanks in no small part to the late Bruce Lee (Kato) – but due to it's limiting thirty minute format, very skimpy on plots and deeper character background. To my mind its only flaw.

Dye in the wool Green Hornet fans will certainly recognize the Black Beauty / trailer / platform scene from the TV show and this is an example of my 'fleshing' things out by showing how exactly could the Hornet achieve this version of the "Trojan Horse".

Like many other fan fictioners (my name for we who dare toil in the world of fan fiction) rather than ignore, I've also chosen to include the Lone Ranger legacy and my spin on it and my story will also include my spin on the Green Hornet's and Kato's origin. Chronologically speaking this adventure occurs during the early years of the Green Hornet's career.

Also note: I will be adding to this story every 60 to 90 days, due to other commitments, it is all I can promise for now.

The Green Hornet

In

"The Color of Hate"

by R. Cruz

The following is an original story by this author employing characters

created and copyrighted by George W. Trendle.

Based in part on the T.V. show

The Green Hornet 1966 Ó 20th Century Fox Television – Greenway Productions

**Another challenge for the Green Hornet, his aide Kato and their rolling arsenal the Black Beauty! On police records a wanted criminal, the Green Hornet is really Britt Reid, owner publisher of the Daily Sentinel, his dual identity known only to his secretary and the District Attorney. **

And now to protect the right and lives of decent citizens --- rides the Green Hornet!

Chapter One

"It's a date."

Casey couldn't help it.

Although she tried to keep her mind on her filing, every once in a while she would steal a glance and then her brown eyes would stay fixated at the large closed oak doors of her boss' office, wondering what was going on in there. They've been in there for twenty minutes, she suffered silently.

"They" were Britt Reid owner, publisher of the Daily Sentinel and one of his most senior and trusted investigative reporters. Casey could easily picture in her mind the "fifty something" reporter pacing nervously about withhis hands energetically waving back and foward,wearing that faded brown sport's jacket that had seen way too many trips to the dry cleaners.

She could also mentally see her boss sitting passively as the verbal storm called Mike Axford attempted to get his way with him. Casey smiled. She almost took pity on her boss. Almost!

* * *

"Look. You know me," Mike stalked with his arms outstretched, "I'm usually never one to ask a favor but I'm in a real bind here. She's been in the city close to a three months and I found that out two months after she arrived. She's a workaholic just like you and I know for a fact that she hasn't gone out on a date since she got here."

The young man behind the desk kept silent. His hands were clasped stoically in front of him and only his blue eyes showed a hint of amusement.

"It's nothing really. Take her out for a nice dinner, a show, maybe a dance hall – then home."

"If she needs a night on the town why can't Casey show her around?" Britt finally offered.

"Casey … ahem … Ms. Case," he corrected himself, "She's a good girl. I have nothing against her but she's … well … too serious. I want my goddaughter to loosen up a bit, have a good time, let her hair down, not get wound up even tighter."

"Mike, I dunno," Britt shook his head, "I'm very busy."

"Now, hold it right there!" Axford with hands braced against Britt's desk leaned over, " I don't like to bring this up but it seems I have to remind you that I've known you since you were knee high to a grasshopper. Your parents, God rest their souls, were my dearest, closest friends. Would I be coming here with my hat in my hands if I didn't want the best for Dinah? I know I can trust her with you. Only you."

This is serious, Britt admitted silently.

When Mike rushed into the office to speak with him judging by the look on his face and Mike's long and justly earned reputation for getting his nose into trouble – he had thought it had something to do with an explosive investigative expose he was working on. This favor caught Britt totally off guard.

Then it was, after all, Dinah Morrison. A name he hadn't heard since college.

"Alright Mike," he capitulated. Mike Axford's response was an ear to ear grin.

"It's a date. But you owe me big old man. And it's going to have to be Saturday night. I have very urgent business on Friday."

"Can you hear me now?"

It was a cool night close to 2 AM on Friday and waiting on a deserted loading bay in front of an enormous warehouse, stood a large man dressed in a tailored three thousand-dollar suit, casually lighting a cigar to keep warm.

He gave a quick nod to one of his sentries, who patrolled the platform and hefted an M-16 like he was born attached to it. The truck he was waiting for was just a bit late but well within the time frame he had accounted for. A true leader has to remain calm and collected in situations like this. It was not only a leadership trait it was just good business sense.

Anthony Manzanetti allowed himself a small grin. It had been a while since he arrived at the city and even longer since he'd ever seen such a wide-open market. Competition was virtually nonexistent! Of course, that still didn't mean that the risks were to be ignored but this city had a need for an illicit drug market and he was only glad to provide it.

True, when the prospect had been approached before the other "Families" shunned their distribution --- they simply shook their collective heads and mumbled 'the Pact' or something, their reasoning always vague --- but that made the profit sharing more exclusive and suited him just fine. What else gave such high rate of return for such a small investment in such a quick amount of time?

A few C notes and the state police would turn a blind eye during a certain trailer crossing state lines, an unmarked envelope with a few C notes more and the city's finest would conveniently patrol another area during the shipment's arrival. Even more C notes secured his choice of protection.

Ha! When it was all tabulated, mere chump change compared to what he was going to take home. Before taxes, of course.

Finally, announcing itself with a few honks of its horn, the truck arrived. He smiled as the familiar words, "Van Williams' Trucks" and the slogan, "Need it moved? Ask Van!" appeared boldly on the trailer.

Nothing better than owning a phony trucking company, Manzanetti mused.

"Alright! Listen up!" Anthony shouted waving his cigar at the dock hands, "As soon as Nicky parks this baby I want the doors opened and the 'washing machines' unloaded and placed into those other boxes -- double time!"

The fact that Nicky hadn't immediately emerged from the cabin as soon as the truck was parked should have given Anthony reason to suspect something was wrong. But, then again Nicky, a Gulf War Vet, was prone to occasional bouts of unsociable moods. It was just his way. Right now, all Anthony had in his mind was the cargo that would make him enough money in one night that, otherwise, would take a good two years.

What Manzanetti did not know was that Nicky's leg had a steel ankle bracelet connected by a thick wire to an enormous battery under his seat. A battery he was warned would discharge a lethal amount of electricity, enough to fry him to a crisp, if he made even the subtlest hint of warning. The small camera lens prominently installed on the dashboard reminded him that he was being watched constantly.

Suddenly, the trailer doors flew open and an enormous black limousine roared onto the cargo platform scattering his men.

Oh no! NOT HIM! Anthony's eyes bulged as he recognized the sedan's make.

To their credit, Manzanetti's guards immediately fired their automatic weapons without prompting on the vehicle but for all the damage they were doing to the Black Beauty they could have been using snowballs instead of bullets.

Inside the Black Beauty, the Asian chauffeur named Kato, smoothly opened a compartment beside him. With practiced ease he flipped toggles that retracted the vehicle's front grill, releasing a rapidly expanding gray gas that caused instant stinging and convulsions to Manzanetti's men.

A small flat monitor mounted on the backseat illuminated the green mask that covered half the face of the man who originated the Trojan Horse inspired attack. "Sensors indicate that we have six down, two staggering and one on the move," the Green Hornet informed from the seat behind Kato. "Get your nose filters ready. I'll go after the runner --- you do clean up."

"I'm a chauffeur, not a maid," Kato joked. The Green Hornet grinned at their easy banter before they swiftly emerged from the Black Beauty with nose filters on, and rushed to their tasks.

* * *

Anthony Manzanetti desperately ran for his dear life, at times falling flat on his face and tearing his expensive suit on the debris left on the warehouse floor. He had to get away! One thing that had been made clear to him by the Families was that if he took any initiative to import drugs he would do so alone.

Now he knew the true reason behind their reluctance to get involved! Anthony was just a few yards away from the exit door and trying to catch his breath when, from the shadows behind him, he heard a low him.

"Tony, Tony," above the hum the Hornet's voice carried over dripping with false sympathy, "Give up. There's no where else to go."

"&# YOU!" Anthony roared as he pulled his nickel plated .45 from its holster and fired back. The hum continued unabated and even rose in pitch, while a buzzing sound could now be made out.

"Maybe you didn't hear me," the Green Hornet continued. "The Families won't take you back. They gave up on you the moment you decided to pollute my city with this filth."

Anthony fired again the weapon's spent cartridge pinging on the floor.

Now the buzz became a whine and the .45 in Anthony's hand began to shake violently. The wannabe drug trafficker could no longer fire it, much less hold it --- the vibration became so intense that he was left with no choice but to let the weapon drop. As it hit the floor, the pistol shattered into tiny pieces and then the whining stopped.

Manzanetti began to run towards the exit door but now found a tall masked man in a dark green trench coat and matching fedora blocking his path.

"We're not finished yet," he said evenly.

With the rage of a cornered beast, Manzanetti lunged with his large hands in front of him hoping to squeeze the Hornet's windpipe. His desperate leap was met by the Green Hornet's Stinger which, when retracted and not in use to demolish guns or topple doors, could be employed as a steel reinforced billy club. The Hornet ducked under Anthony's arms then smacked the gangster repeatedly with a series of swift blows aimed particularly at pressure points, replacing the wannabe drug dealer's raw anger with searing pain.

The Green Hornet then held Manzanetti in a chokehold against the coarse side of a wooden crate with the stinger across his neck.

"Can you hear me now?" Manzanetti nodded as the Hornet continued, "Good! I really hate repeating myself. I don't want drugs in my city. Understand? Neither do the other 'Bosses'. In fact, it's one of the FEW things we see eye to eye on. Those that try to break our pact answer exclusively to me. You got that? You'll be left to my TENDER care."

A "G – G" was the only sound that Manzanetti could make.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'", the Hornet released his grip on the gangster just enough to reach inside his pocket and hit a button on a tiny transmitter.

* * *

A few miles away, inside the passenger seat of a black and white patrol car, the city's District Attorney, F.P Scanlon heard a familiar buzzing sound emanating from a tiny earphone device and he casually adjusted his glasses. His finger brushed against a small button on the frame, relaying the signal had been received. 

"Let's move in," he ordered over the police radio.

* * *

The wailing of the police sirens echoed inside the thick walls of the warehouse, approaching ever so quickly. Frank's going to cut this one really close, thought the Green Hornet. 

"You're in luck Tony. The police have really been after me since that stunt I pulled back at the banking district, so I'm going to have to leave you with them. Your luck is going to run out someday and when you fall --- I'll be there waiting to catch you. And next time instead of using my Stinger on your gun … I'll pick a more delicate target."

While the gangster fell blissfully into an unconscious heap, the Green Hornet turned and ran back to the Black Beauty.

He arrived just in time to witness Kato execute a flawless and swift spinning kick which instantly floored one of the platform guards. Possibly the guard had been strong enough to fight the effects of the gas. Judging by the awkward positions on the dirty warehouse floor, it was evident to the Hornet that the rest had not been so sturdy.

"Let's roll, Kato!"

The black uniformed chauffeur leaped, slid across the Black Beauty's hood, smoothly closing the door behind him as he ignited the vehicle's engine, which seemed to roar with anticipation.

"What took you so long?" the Hornet teased from the backseat.

"Actually, I got so bored waiting I woke one of them up and stretched out the fight waiting for you," replied Kato. Under his expert driving, the Black Beauty flew across the platform and down a ramp, seconds before the first squad car arrived.

"Let them go," Scanlon radioed. "We'll get them soon enough." The D.A. adjusted his glasses, his hand covering a tiny grin.

"Yeah right," he whispered softly.

"Eat me."

Britt's idea of a fancy dinner was Gabriella's on the Wharf.

Gabriella's was THE finest restaurant in the city. But its fame did not come from just fine cuisine. Most of the famous and even some of the infamous dined there. On any given night a patron could see superstar athletes mingled with music idols or movie stars chatting with equally famous lawyers or politicians.

As the owner-publisher of the Daily Sentinel, Britt Reid was a regular visitor enough to secure a reserved table with just a phone call. While he personally preferred a more quiet and intimate atmosphere, it gave the paper a degree of sophistication to allow himself to be seen at places like this. Also Britt sincerely believed that Dinah would get a thrill out of seeing so many celebrities under one roof.

This particular Saturday night was no different. The place was swarming with customers!

Across the table from him, Britt again remarked how fabulous Dinah looked in her red strapless evening gown, her raven hair loose and touching her slim shoulders. He wore a formal black dinner jacket and tie. Frankly, they looked great together prompting the occasional glance from other patrons with their curious expressions asking, "Who is she?"

"Thanks for inviting me here Britt," Dinah flashed a gorgeous smile, "This place is a dream …and this food …heavenly. The delicate care the chef put into its presentation just says, 'Eat me'."

"Yes, Chef Noel had been creating culinary miracles here for years now," Britt replied as he sat down his fork next to his half-eaten salmon. "I'm glad you were able to pry yourself away from your job at your designing studio to accompany me. Mike says ---"

"My godfather," she interrupted, "is a dear and I love him. But he tends to exaggerate."

"Oh, what do you mean?" Britt feigned ignorance.

Dinah chuckled sweetly, "You know better than I that he's can be so old school, at times. Even in this day and age, he can't accept that a woman can be as career minded and driven as a man. Like my parents, he wants me married with children before I'm thirty-five."

"Well, in his defense, I think he's right."

"Oh, how so?" Dinah raised an eyebrow.

"No one, male or female should be so consumed by one goal that life's simple pleasures passes them by. That's a path that usually leads towards loneliness."

"Britt Reid," Dinah replied seriously, "You've come a long way from that angry and lost young man I knew back in college."

A shade of pain darkened Britt's face momentarily as he recalled that particular chapter in his life. It was a harsh period that led up to the death of his mother and his personal war of words with his father. But before Dinah could take notice of any difference in his demeanor he recovered quickly with a smile.

"I guess you could say I found my way," he replied with a tinge of sadness.

Dinah placed her hand next to his and squeezed gently, "Looks like my godfather was right. We BOTH needed to spend a night out, huh?"

Britt nodded then joked, "That's why I still keep him around."

* * *

It was half past three in the morning when Dinah was finally able to take off her high heels. Her feet were tired and a little sore from all the dancing they had done after dinner at Gabriella's. Still, she was too wired to sleep so she walked to the balcony of her flat and looked out at the rainbow of lit buildings and streets outside. 

Such a gentleman, she thought. Britt accompanied her to the lobby of her apartment building, gave her a quick peck on the cheek and without asking for a nightcap, got into his Porsche, waved goodbye and promised to call.

Dinah smiled confidently to herself, He will too.

A yawn of exhaustion suddenly escaped her, which she took as a clear sign to finally lie down. She was headed toward her bedroom when her eyes fell on a large manila envelope that was on the floor.

That's funny. I don't remember seeing that before.

Curious, Dinah quickly opened it expecting a surprise form Britt but once she saw what was inside, the envelope fell from her hands as she put one of them over her mouth to stifle a scream.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	2. Bitter Sweet Memories

****

Author Notes: For the subsequent chapters I will write a short summary of what has happened in the previous chapter. For now, by simply following what occurs within, you will be caught up. 

****

The Green Hornet

In

"The Color of Hate"

by R. Cruz

The following is an original story by this author employing characters

created and copyrighted by George W. Trendel. 

Based in part on the T.V. show

The Green Hornet 1966 Ó 20th Century Fox Television – Greenway Productions

**Another challenge for the Green Hornet, his aide Kato and their rolling arsenal the Black Beauty! On police records a wanted criminal, the Green Hornet is really Britt Reid, owner publisher of the Daily Sentinel, his dual identity known only to his secretary and the District Attorney.**

And now to protect the right and lives of decent citizens --- rides the Green Hornet!

****

Chapter Two

****

"Evil triumphs…"

"And we're back in five…four…three…two…"

The portly director pointed his right hand at the television camera, while moving behind it. Right on cue the African American female news anchor focused her eyes directly into the camera's lens.

"And now coming to you live with his weekly editorial, the Daily Sentinel's owner and publisher, Mr. Britt Reid."

The camera then spotlighted Britt's face as he flashed a handsome smile, which seemed to fill the screen. Although it was a rehearsed one, nonetheless, it still radiated warmth and sincerity.

"Good evening.

"Late last Friday night the warehouse district became ground zero for violence between Anthony Manzanetti, alleged gangster and drug dealer and the notorious Green Hornet. Thanks to the swift intervention of the city's Anti-Organized Crime Unit, working in conjunction with the District Attorney's office, we can report that no lives were lost despite evidence of heavy gunfire. Anthony Manzanetti is currently in police custody under heavy guard, while the Green Hornet has eluded capture and is currently at large.

"For now the city's streets are safe. But I can't help but wonder, for how long? A few days? A week? A month? How long before, once again, the sound of gunfire disturbs the tranquility of our minds, forcing us to live like prisoners in our own homes?

"In this instance the cavalry arrived in time but what about the next time? What or who will come to save an innocent bystander when he or she is caught in the crossfire between two warring gangs? Does there need to be a tragedy like that to force us into action and claim what is rightfully ours?

"And what is rightfully ours, you ask? 

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am talking about peace of mind. I am speaking about the right for decent, tax paying, law abiding citizens to walk the streets at night. Streets without violence! Safe neighborhoods and sidewalks entire families can stroll on anytime of the day or night without looking over their shoulders.

"Some say, 'That's what the police are for!' But the police can't do it alone. They need our help. By establishing neighborhood watch groups or volunteering time at police precincts, we fortify community relationships between our city's finest and the people they have sworn to serve and protect. Citizens should know the cops on the neighborhood beat by name. This is the foundation we must begin with, if we are to seriously reclaim our city from the gang lords and hoodlums.

"My father once taught me an old saying, 'Evil triumphs when good men do nothing.'

"The evil some men harbor in their hearts is a reality. Their criminal acts another. You could argue that it is what makes us human and that unfortunately, it exists and always will. But criminals like Anthony Manzanetti and the Green Hornet also thrive because of our apathy. And while their desire to do harm is human nature and cannot be changed, it can be controlled. We CAN keep it in check!

"But we MUST become more pro-active. Strengthening our lines of communication and volunteering with the police is a step in the right direction. But when a crime is being committed, it is our civic duty to report it – immediately! 

"Another sure way to improve our quality of life is taking some time, either today or tomorrow and investing it in learning the name of a face you see everyday. Socialize and talk with your neighbors. Remember we ALL share this city. Working together we can do it.

"When we become involved we become protectors of our own rights and lives. And in the end, we will have the criminals living in fear and looking over THEIR shoulders.

"The number you see now on your screens will direct you to the volunteer center nearest to you. Give them a call. Start making a difference. Thank you ladies and gentlemen and good night."

****

"Dan Reid - Elder Statesman"

Leonore Case – Casey to her friends – knocked softly on the door to Britt Reid's office before entering, as always. She found her employer with his broad back facing her, staring at the portrait of his parents that hung on the far wall. Typical of the elder Reids' style, the painting did not display them in the customary position, husband and wife standing seriously beside each other. No, Britt's parents' were captured hugging and laughing like two teenagers deeply in love.

The painter had expertly captured their bright spirit and happiness. It had been a gift from them to Britt on his eighteenth birthday.

While she stood silently observing her employer, the secretary's deep brown eyes could not help but notice that he was unconsciously rubbing his right shoulder. It was the "wound". Casey grit her teeth, recalling the tale of how he obtained it.

This isn't a good sign, she mulled.

"I just stepped in to tell you that I was about to leave, Britt," she broke the silence, using his first name only when they were alone. A habit she never broke in front of Daily Sentinel employees. "Unless you need to talk."

"I've been thinking a lot about Dad these past few days," Britt replied softly.

Casey knew from past experience that the best thing for Britt when he was in a pensive mood was to let him talk, "Really? That would explain your reference to him during your editorial."

"You know, I really don't like doing those things," Britt began feeling more at ease. Not only because he basked in the warmth of her open and honest friendship but also because she had a priceless ability to know how to simply listen.

"At times I wonder, what's the point? Do the people in this city even really care what I have to say?" he continued, as his shoulders slumped slightly.

"You place the issues straight onto the people's lap," Casey added, while resting a hand softly on his right shoulder. "The point is, you remind them that what happens in the city affects us all and they have the power to change things."

"Dad was so much better at this than I am," he said with a tiny smile escaping the corner of his mouth. "His friends used to call him 'Dan Reid – Elder Statesman', although never to his face." Britt pointed in direction of the TV studio. "He never got to see me do one. I wonder what he would say."

"Britt, what's wrong?" Casey grew worried. "It's been awhile since I've seen you like this."

"It's Dinah," Britt replied and immediately regretted it.

"Oh, really," she replied icily, while her jaw tightened slightly and an eyebrow rose. It was a subtle sign of jealousy.

"I went out with Dinah Morrison, Mike's goddaughter on Saturday. Dinner, dancing, we talked and nothing else happened," Reid added for good measure.

"Go on," Casey said evenly.

Britt made a mental note to send for flowers and have them delivered to her desk early tomorrow as a peace offering, "Uh … anyway, she knew me from back in my college student days. She commented on how much I had changed. 'Angry and lost'," she said. The exact words Dad used to describe me..."

****

##

The two combatants sparred fiercely in a small section of the spacious garden on the Reid's family estate. Both were sheltered from plain view by the lush vegetation of bushes and tall trees. The student, using swift jabs aimed towards the body of his opponent tried his best to break his master's defenses but was finding it a frustrating task, impossible at best.

"You're letting your thoughts wander. Concentrate!" the master encouraged.

Yeah, easy for you to say, his pupil mulled.

As if he was reading his pupil's mind, the kung-fu master's hands lunged past his student's weak parry and with lightning speed slapped him behind his head.

This blow embarrassed the young man and enraged him. Now, throwing all caution to the wind and with a loud cry echoing off the garden's wall, he mounted a formidable offensive. His hands were a blur as he combined jabs to the face and chest with kicks aimed at his teacher's shins and thighs. The pupil even began to gain ground, forcing his teacher back but his anger also made him reckless.

Sensing an opportunity to turn the tide, the master blocked and then grabbed a swift spinning kick, locking it with his arm. He then followed up his defense with a short sweep of his legs tripping the younger man and making him land hard onto the grass with his back.

"That's enough for today, Wong." Kato announced. 

"Yes, Sifu," his student mumbled as he rose, rubbing his sore back. Both then saluted each other officially ending the sparring practice.

"Anger is a strong emotion --- explosive! When you draw from it, it is an ally that adds power to your attack. But never forget: It is useful only if you have control of it! Fail that and the battle is lost before it has even begun." 

"Yes, Sifu." Wong replied.

"You're doing well. Each time you grow more," Kato added with a smile of encouragement, "Now, off with you. Mr. Reid will be home soon and I must prepare for his arrival."

Suddenly Wong's face clouded with a look that Kato had become familiar with. He had seen this expression on the face of his student before and, until now, had never addressed the subject.

Perhaps today I should finally put this issue to rest. 

"Did I say something wrong, Wong?" Kato's pupil hung his head for a brief moment, ashamed to face his master's. For a few heartbeats he stood silent, then finally Wong found the courage to speak what was in his heart.

"Why Sifu? Why do you … serve … this Caucasian? It is so … humiliating!" Wang spat, "You are honored and revered within our community. You are a Grand Master of Kung-Fu and a great teacher!"

"And my 'standing' in the community, my vast ability in martial arts should make me … ah … better than him? I am at least important enough …no …worthy enough that it should be HE serving me, instead? Is that how you feel?"

"Well, yes! In my eyes, yes!"

Kato snuck out his arm and before his pupil realized it, slapped behind his head again.

"Wha … what?" Wong stammered, "Sifu, why ---?"

"Now that I'm sure I have your attention. I want you to listen closely. I am going to tell you a tale that began a few years ago. And it is a story about fathers and sons…"

****

TO BE CONTINUED…


	3. Fathers and Sons Pt One

Author Notes:

Britt Reid (aka The Green Hornet) was asked by Mike Axford to take his goddaughter (and an old college acquaintance of Britt's) Dinah Morrison out for a night on the town. Britt did but not before stopping a wannabe drug lord from importing his deadly cargo into the city.

But Dinah's presence has opened a floodgate of old memories of Britt and his father and Casey finds him in a pensive mood after giving one of his weekly editorials in his TV studio. Britt, however, is completely unaware that the night after he left Dinah at her flat, she found an envelope and opened it … causing her to scream in despair.

Kato, meanwhile, is with a martial arts student back at the Reid estate and explaining to the disgruntled pupil why he 'serves' Britt.

The Green Hornet

In

"The Color of Hate"

by R. Cruz

The following is an original story by this author employing characters

created and copyrighted by George W. Trendle.

Based in part on the T.V. show

The Green Hornet 1966 Ó 20th Century Fox Television – Greenway Productions

**Another challenge for the Green Hornet, his aide Kato and their rolling arsenal the Black Beauty! On police records a wanted criminal, the Green Hornet is really Britt Reid, owner publisher of the Daily Sentinel, his dual identity known only to his secretary and the District Attorney. **

And now to protect the right and lives of decent citizens --- rides the Green Hornet!

Chapter Three

A Tale of Fathers and Sons

Part One:

Kato

I lived with my parents in Hong Kong and I was barely eighteen when a nagging pneumonia had finally left my father bed ridden. Medicine and doctors were expensive. Father tried his best and fought bravely against the illness but it became obvious to us that if I did not take matters into my own hands and get him the type of treatment and quality doctors he needed, he would die.

Through rumors and back talk I learned that kids my age or younger, that were also Hong Kong street gang members, participated in clandestine street fights. The hearsay was that in one night a man could make what he did in six months of work. Normally, I would not consider such type of 'tournament' and it was against everything my Sifu had taught me, but I was desperate and there seemed no other alternative.

Martial artists, street brawlers, fugitives and anonymous men with shady pasts from around all over the country and even from other lands came to take part in what was becoming a racket for fast money or for the pure 'honor' of fighting without restraints.

It is possible even today that, when you walk the back streets of Hong Kong you will hear the whispered legend of a masked fighter who rose briefly from obscurity, becoming a legend of sorts. In this dark world of pain and death, I was that anonymous fighter and undefeated champion.

Does this shock you, Wong? Wait, there is even a worse truth.

Long after I had fought and won the money, which my father needed to recuperate, I secretly continued to fight in the arena. I can shamefully admit now, that I had become addicted to the adrenaline rush I felt when I engaged in mortal combat. I had fought before in traditional competition – I was one of the youngest ever to reach the standing of Grand Master -- but this was different. It was viscerally savage – primordial.

I kept my identity a secret by using a mask and changing my name to "Lee" which was a fad amongst fighters of the time. I also adapted and employed many other techniques from different disciplines, like wrestling, boxing and judo in order to mask my expertise in Wing Chung Kung Fu.

For me, victory was easy. Too easy, in fact! Sooner than I realized I became an enormous success. Many came from all across the far reaches to witness the fights of the undefeated "Lee, The Masked Dragon".

I was fighting my latest opponent, an American whose background had been that of a wrestler that had crippled man after losing a match and forever banned from the sport. He was a giant! Barrel wide chest, muscles bulging, and his skull shaved. I still remember his bloodshot, crazed eyes and concluding he was also a drug user.

I recalled a lesson from my Sifu, early in my training where he said that "When facing a mountain one must become both wind and water. The wind blows the rain and the water cascades over the mountain, eroding it. Even a mountain will disappear under such an assault."

With a snarl my opponent lunged at me, a murderous glare in his eyes. I, of course, evaded but knew that I could not avoid his attacks for long. I used my master's advice but instead of a mountain, I pictured my combatant as an enormous redwood tree. I chose to 'chop' at the redwood branch by branch.

My blows were aimed at his eyebrows, shins, knees, and ribs. Meanwhile, I made distracting cat-like hissing. I growled and howled, angering him even more, while I darted and ducked away from his grasp. Although my fingers were sore; my knuckles red and scraped raw --- my plan of attack worked! The wrestler's cuts were bleeding profusely, blinding him and soon I saw his trunk-sized thighs began to tremble, unable to stand firmly.

A flying kick to his head followed by a perfectly executed back flip and I was holding onto his sweaty thick neck. From there I clasped my arms and began to tighten them around his windpipe and jugular. He struggled valiantly but to no use, in seconds he passed out onto the mat and I stood on top of him, my hands raised, basking in the roar of the crowd.

Suddenly, regardless of the multitude of eyes focused on me, I felt a distinct pair of familiar ones fixed on me. It was my father and he was angry!

* * *

"Why?" Father asked, but I did not answer him. I kept my head bowed, while sitting in the lotus position on the immaculate floor of my master's Kwoon.

My Sifu sat beside my father and although I could not see his face, I could picture quite well the expression of disappointment featured on his visage.

Finally, he spoke, "When I first met you, Kato you told me that the greatest weapon the Chinese had was their minds. You demonstrated wisdom far beyond your years. And I took it as an omen and thanked my ancestors that I had been graced with finding a student worthy of my teachings. As time passed I watched you grow, physically and spiritually. I admit I even felt pride, as if you were my own son, as your mind and body thrived on the knowledge and training I passed on to you."

Father interrupted angrily, "Did you honestly believe you could keep your nocturnal forays a secret from us?" Then he looked at my Sifu, as he rose his hand, palm forward and regained his composure.

Sifu continued, "I turned my eyes away and acted ignorant because I understood your desire to help your father during his illness. Even when you continued to take part in that abomination, we hoped that you would come to your senses. But after last night and the way I observed your childish prancing and parading in the arena, you left us no choice other than to intervene before it was too late."

Sifu was a small man but when he stood, he loomed over me like an angry giant, "You have lost your way. You let your emotions, your lust for battle pollute and dominate your Chi. We had expected more for you. You have embarrassed and disillusioned our faith in you."

His words struck harder than any blow I ever received in the ring. Tears swelled up in my eyes as I rose quickly and ran away.

"Kato!" I heard my father cry out but it was Sifu's harsh words that echoed louder.

I ran the streets and alleyways of Hong Kong heedless of my direction but I would later realize -- I was headed towards my destiny …

TO BE CONTINUED…

A Tale of Fathers and Sons

Part Two:

Britt


	4. Fathers and Sons Pt Two

Author Notes:

Britt Reid (aka The Green Hornet) was asked by Mike Axford to take his goddaughter (and an old college acquaintance of Britt's) Dinah Morrison out for a night on the town. Britt did but not before stopping a wannabe drug lord from importing his deadly cargo into the city.

But Dinah's presence has opened a floodgate of old memories of Britt and his father and Casey finds him in a pensive mood after giving one of his weekly editorials in his TV studio.

Britt, however, is completely unaware that the night after he left Dinah at her flat, she found an envelope and opened it … causing her to scream in despair.

The Green Hornet

In

"The Color of Hate"

by R. Cruz

The following is an original story by this author employing characters

created and copyrighted by George W. Trendle.

Based in part on the T.V. show

The Green Hornet 1966 Ó 20th Century Fox Television – Greenway Productions

**Another challenge for the Green Hornet, his aide Kato and their rolling arsenal the Black Beauty! On police records a wanted criminal, the Green Hornet is really Britt Reid, owner publisher of the Daily Sentinel, his dual identity known only to his secretary and the District Attorney. **

And now to protect the right and lives of decent citizens --- rides the Green Hornet!

Chapter Four

A Tale of Fathers and Sons

Part Two:

Britt

I'll admit I was a bit spoiled growing up.

Not hard when you're an only child to doting and devoted parents. While Mom and I were close, Dad was like a Greek god to me. He seemed so larger than life to both of us. And long before he became this 'elder statesman' he was a pioneering businessman.

He was one of the first to invest money in communications and anticipate the change and demand for twenty-four hour information access. It was hectic and demanding work, brokering deals and such, and he was often away from home more than we liked.

Yet, we would also find time and escape on hunting and fishing weekends. They sure passed their love of the outdoors onto me, those two. And what better way to rest from the business demands and the hustle and bustle of city life than sitting by a campfire looking at the stars.

I can still see us sitting beside him as he passed on the adventures, told to him by his father, of one our ancestors. A man who rode the lawless plains protecting the innocent and dispensing justice.

When I was old enough I finally had the courage to ask what had happened to him.

My father told me that one-day back at the old Reid Ranch in Texas, a stranger approached on a old but still beautiful white stallion demanding to speak to Dan Reid, my great-great-great grandfather. Dad's namesake obliged but met the man with a shotgun pointed right at his chest.

"Your father would be proud," the stranger said, with a weather beaten smile. Then the stranger took out a black domino mask from his pocket and gave it to my dumbfounded ancestor, revealing who he was.

He was a great-great-great grand uncle believed dead during an ambush that took the life of his brother, my grandfather many times removed and other Texas Rangers. There are many and varied tales attributed to him. Stories about the vilest villains and of silver bullets, a horse named Silver, and wearing a mask with his Indian companion fighting lawlessness at his side. Some were quite unbelievable quite frankly.

Yet one truth remained evident: Through out his career the Ranger watched from afar as his surviving nephew grew up, married and later became a federal prosecutor.

The Ranger or Kemosabe, as our family refers to him, had grown tired of wandering the old west that was now becoming ever more 'civilized' and wanted be close to family during his final years. When he was asked what had happened to his Indian friend, his face would darken and he would say simply, "Tonto went back to his tribe."

As you know, Casey, back in those days white men breaking as many treaties as they made was a common practice, all in an effort to appropriate land. Huh, it was more like stealing it outright from those that lived on it before, when you think about it.

Maybe the abuse visited upon his kind proved to be too much to bear or perhaps, when he saw that my ancestor's path led back home, that he should follow suit. Whatever the reason, it was a source of great sadness to the Ranger until his dying day.

The Ranger also brought with him one final secret other than a life full of tall tales of adventure. He bequeathed to the Reid family a vast and hidden silver mine!

The newly reunited uncle and nephew understood how greed and even the promise of a great fortune could 'turn' any man so they both agreed to keep its ultimate location a family secret. Even safeguards were prepared such as false maps and trust funds backed by shrewd financial investments never revealed the true source of the money.

This ensured Reid descendants lived a comfortable but not too extravagant lifestyle. Only if a Reid chose to take up the cause of justice, in a manner like the Ranger, would he or she become privy to our family's most guarded secret in order to finance such an endeavor.

Dad, however, became a self-made millionaire by the time he was the owner of the Daily Sentinel. I was barely beginning my sophomore year in high school and I remember how he told me with fevered optimism, that he was taking a stand against the corruption that was eating away at the city with a vengeance.

His scathing investigations helped by a young Mike Axford, won awards and accolades nationwide. Key figures of the underworld were jailed. Corrupt public officials exposed and discredited and he was starting to make a difference. Starting to win. But by the time I was a freshman in college his war against crime and those crime-lords that wished to rule the city exacted a heavy toll – Mom.

TO BE CONTINUED…

A Tale of Fathers and Sons

Part Three:

Britt and Kato

Author's final note:

Thanks to X-mas vacation I have some extra time and will be able to post at least two to three chapters in a row. Keep checking in the upcoming weeks.


	5. Fathers and Sons Pt Three

Author Notes:

Britt Reid (aka The Green Hornet) was asked by Mike Axford to take his goddaughter (and an old college acquaintance of Britt's) Dinah Morrison out for a night on the town. Britt did but not before stopping a wannabe drug lord from importing his deadly cargo into the city.

But Dinah's presence has opened a floodgate of old memories of Britt and his father and Casey finds him in a pensive mood after giving one of his weekly editorials in his TV studio. Kato, meanwhile, is with a martial arts student back at the Reid estate and explaining to the disgruntled pupil why he 'serves' Britt.

Britt, however, is completely unaware that the night after he left Dinah at her flat, she found an envelope and opened it … causing her to scream in despair.

****

The Green Hornet

In

"The Color of Hate"

by R. Cruz

The following is an original story by this author employing characters

created and copyrighted by George W. Trendel. 

Based in part on the T.V. show

The Green Hornet 1966 Ó 20th Century Fox Television – Greenway Productions

**Another challenge for the Green Hornet, his aide Kato and their rolling arsenal the Black Beauty! On police records a wanted criminal, the Green Hornet is really Britt Reid, owner publisher of the Daily Sentinel, his dual identity known only to his secretary and the District Attorney.**

And now to protect the right and lives of decent citizens --- rides the Green Hornet!

****

Chapter Five

****

A Tale of Fathers and Sons

Part Three:

Britt and Kato

BRITT

The cracks in my relationship with Dad started to appear when I was in middle school. I got into some childish penny ante pranks against school property with some other wealthy kids and he immediately sent me to a military private school to 'straighten me out'.

It had the opposite affect, actually. I still remember him at home reading one of my student evaluations aloud where the school exalted my 'high IQ, natural born ability to lead, great ease learning and applying military tactics and recalling history but failure in maintaining interest in other subjects and disrespect for authority'.

Thank God for Mom, who served as a buffer between Dad and me. She always said that what I was going through was just a phase: my way of gaining attention.

By the time I was in college I couldn't care less. Dad was more at the Sentinel than home anyway. We almost had to schedule an appointment to see him. But if you saw Mom, it never seemed to bother her. She always has a smile and a sense of calm around her.

Mom. Casey, you would've liked her and I'm positive she would've liked you. I'll never forget that it rained the day we buried her…

****

" …a cold and dark museum…"

Britt felt cold and shivered. He hadn't asked for an umbrella nor took one when it was offered. He didn't want it. Britt wanted to feel wet and cold. At least it was better than feeling nothing. His mother's coffin had been just lowered and most of the mourners, even Mike Axford, had begun to reluctantly leave. Soon, only Britt and his father remained.

"Time to go, son." Dan Reid said softly, while placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm not going home." He replied tersely, shaking it off.

"What?" his father replied stunned.

"There's nothing to go back to," he added harshly. "With Mom gone, that mansion is nothing but a cold and dark museum. Had you not been so obsessed with running the Sentinel and your campaign to clean the city you would have realized it too."

"My God, son." Dan Reid's voice shook with anger. "Are you implying … are you blaming me for this?"

"What has your fight against crime gotten you, huh?" Britt yelled, "Some awards here, national recognition there, but have you really changed anything? Don't look now Dad but the city is still corrupt! 

"Every crime boss you fought to put away has been replaced and the everyday citizen couldn't care less. Their happy as long as the trains run on time and the garbage is picked up every week."

"Britt. Son," his father pleaded, "It isn't that simple. You're angry now and you feel lost. Please understand: You and I … we don't have a choice. It's … part … of who we are and what we are made of. Evil triumphs when good men do nothing. Being a Reid means always defending and protecting those that can't or won't."

"Are you hearing what you're saying?" Britt spat, "Mom is dead, an innocent bystander and victim of your dream, nothing is ever going to change that and you're giving me some kind of family dogma. This isn't the old west Pop! There's no showdown at noon, no masked cowboy on a white horse with silver bullets. Do me a favor and stop living in the past."

"Dammit, boy, she was your mother," Dan Reid roared, "but she was my wife! The most precious part of my soul is buried there but she was also a Reid! She cherished our heritage and made it her own. Our family meant everything to her and she supported me every way she could."

"That's our problem in a nutshell, isn't it," Britt replied coolly. "I'm no longer a wide eyed kid reveling in tall tales. All I see is the reality around me. I live in a world where the man who allegedly ordered the hit on my mother --- the most vile crime lord of them all --- got off and can't be touched by the law.

"Oh, no. He still walks the streets enjoying the life of a free man, while my father lives in denial and tries to absolve himself of fault. That's what rubs me wrong, my old man is too blind and too impotent to accept the part he played in it."

Dan Reid drew his arm back and hit Britt across the chin.

"Omigod! Omigod, son!" he said aghast, "Forgive me Britt!"

Britt calmly wiped away the trickle of blood on his cut lip and replied softly, "It's alright. I was wrong. You're right. You didn't kill her, your stupid crusade did." 

Britt turned and began to walk away. "Where are you going?" his father cried out.

"Far away from this damn city. Far away from you."

****

KATO

As I ran aimlessly through the streets of Hong Kong, my mind replayed an event from my early childhood. My father worked as an extra in many Shaw Production films and it was during one of my visits to the set as a child that I met my Sifu. He served as a fight choreographer and martial arts adviser.

Sifu fled the Cultural Revolution of Mainland China, which many years before banned the practice of martial arts. With the invention of moving pictures, as the Masters before him employed Peking Opera, he used feature films as another method to continue the training of Wing Chung Kung Fu and other traditions of martial arts alive.

I was just ten years old, watching the filming of one scene when he saw the dour expression on my face. "What is wrong, little dragon?" he asked.

After a quick bow, I swallowed my fear and replied, "Forgive me. Father told me that martial arts teach self-discipline … not fighting. I mean no disrespect but people in real life do not fly in the air or fight thousands of men at a time. That it is not a true expression of one's soul. Fighting is not a skill, it is a last resort."

"Really? If not fighting prowess, then what would be the greatest weapon a man could possess?" 

"This," I pointed to my head. "His greatest weapon is in here."

Sifu laughed briefly. He then scrutinized me, very closely. It was as if he were looking right through me. He called my father and they both spoke in hurried whispers. Father bowed at the old master and grinned widely at me. At that moment Sifu decided to take me under his wing. 

I took to Sifu's training like a fish to water. I could even occasionally see a tiny smile of pride on my master's rock-like stern face. He taught me much more than just Wing Chung, he taught me how to breathe, to channel my Chi, the inner working of the body, philosophy, history and many, more secrets.

My tears had long since dried by the time I found myself reaching a main avenue in Hong Kong. Although the wound from my father and my Sifu's disappointment was still fresh. I could not go home, I could not go back to my Kwoon. 

Any and all enemies I faced in the ring I was able to vanquish but now, I had no idea how to confront and defeat this new enemy…myself.

The chaotic sound of a multitude of people, their voices raised in panic shook me from my introspection, attracting my attention. Slowly emerging from a side alley I fell into a flood of men and women, most approximately my age, running from police in riot gear.

Suddenly I recalled flyers announcing a rally celebrating the anniversary of the Tiananmen Square Massacre days before. Many Chinese pro-democracy exiles from America were expected to appear. It had even been rumored that the famous "Tank Man" would finally reveal himself. 

For years Mainland China had reluctantly tolerated the yearly and very public celebration, a necessary evil they had accepted when taking back the colony from British rule. Apparently, this time their tolerance level had reached a limit. 

A young girl, barely in her teen ran past me, slipped and fell. Before she could rise she found herself cornered by one of the riot police. He had begun to pull back his arm with his billy-club poised to crack her skull, when I intervened without thinking.

I wrenched the club from his hand, taking the policeman totally by surprise, then with a loud cry, struck repeated blows around his ribs and his knees knocking him down before he could mount a defense.

Another policeman ran to assist his companion and I spun to face him. This riot cop held his plastic transparent shield in front of him as he charged. I slid underneath his reach and clubbed him around his ankles. As I rose, I battered him in areas his riot gear failed to protect him. He also fell to the street in obvious pain before realizing what had happened.

Then another and another replaced him: I faced a never-ending sea of men but was beyond caring. My blows, powerful enough to have killed an unarmored man, were fueled by the anger I had suppressed from my master's words, my father's disappointment and the disgust from abuse the young woman would have been victim of.

I had finally unleashed it. But so totally lost in the heat of battle was I that I failed to sense a rifle taking aim at me.

****

BRITT 

…When my falling out with dad happened, I had graduated from college majoring in business administration with a minor in journalism.

When I left the city, I took a cruise around the world, losing myself in the different cultures, hunting in safaris and fishing for a year. People would opine I was living the lifestyle of a rich, young man and I took some joy from it but in reality it served only as a distraction from my emptiness.

Not all of it was fun. I also saw and experienced the pain and suffering of people in other countries and it helped dampened my own hurt a little. I guess the life of the wandering rich kid trying to 'find himself' was wearing thin. 

Before I realized it I was halfway across the world, in Hong Kong. And why Hong Kong? Why not. It seemed, at the time, the farthest place I could dream up. 

Meanwhile, I kept Mike abreast of where I was and what I was doing since I knew he would tell Dad, keeping the old man off my back. Had I simply disappeared off the face of the Earth, Dad would leave no stone unturned trying to find me.

It was Mike's never-ending nagging that made me decide to hook up with some people he knew from the Sentinel's Asia bureau. But that was not the only reason. By working for Sentinel and keeping Mike and the entire Pacific Ocean between us, Dad would respect my space.

It took me awhile to settle into the change of lifestyle but during my year around the world I discovered I had a talent for assimilating different cultures and languages. Soon months passed and despite the fact I was the boss's son, I earned the respect of my coworkers and was hitting the streets with confidence, filing small but poignant human-interest stories.

My major assignment came during the Tianenmen Square annual celebration. The air was alive with men and women of all ages marching proudly with their banners saying, "Never forget!" 

Multi-colored Chinese Dragons danced and swirled. Fireworks filled the night sky with a rainbow of exploding colors. The celebration had begun peaceful and festive enough but that feeling soon evaporated and turned towards suspicion and fear when the Hong Kong police began to arrive in riot gear. 

As soon as the legality of the marcher's procession was challenged, fists flew and the policeman waded into the crowds hitting anyone with long billy-clubs that even looked crossed eye at them. They were not even making an attempt to arrest anybody. 

I ducked for cover in a small alcove --- my cameraman had long since disappeared --- watching in disgust as the police attacked citizens indiscriminately. A small battle a few feet away caught my attention. I noticed a young man, armed with just a billy-club, saving a woman from a beating then holding his own against the armored policemen.

Then I noticed one of the policemen, further away, taking aim with a rifle from behind him. In a few seconds the man would be taken out and judging from my angle, the martial artist wouldn't even realize it.

No matter how hard I tried, I could not turn away. My every instinct cried that I had to do something. I finally realized what Dad was saying during Mom's funeral!

****

BRITT and KATO

I leaped and pushed the young man out of the way just as I took the shot that would've blown off his (Kato's) head in my right shoulder. I was fortunate that it missed a major artery and went right through me. My head felt detached from my body, it might've been the shock and I mumbled something as I fell unconscious from the pain but I can't remember what I said.

**

For a brief instant I thought I was under attack. Two strong hands, seemingly out of nowhere, pushed me to the ground. Suddenly I heard a shot and saw my Samaritan jerk backwards, realizing instantly that the bullet that had just hit him had been meant for me.

I remember holding him in my arms as he fell unconscious saying, "Dad you were right. I didn't have a choice."

Yes, Wong. 

The man you said should be serving me. The 'Anglo', Mr. Britt Reid saved my life. I owe him the most scared of debts ---a life debt. For it is clear that I would not be standing here today, had it not been for him. And everything that I have learned and experienced since, I owe to a man who selflessly took a bullet meant to kill me.

And there's more but I will save that tale of fathers and sons for the next time we meet. It is late and you must go home while I prepare for Mr. Reid's arrival.

***

The phone on Britt's desk rang and Casey smoothly picked up the receiver, "Mr. Reid's office. Yes, he's right here."

"Who is it, Casey?"

"It's Mike and he needs to talk to you. It sounds urgent."

"When isn't it with Mike?" Britt took the receiver smiling. Seconds later his smile evaporated as he replaced the phone with a stunned look on his face.

"What is it, what's wrong Britt?"

"Mike's calling from the hospital. Dinah was rushed there. She tried to commit suicide."

****

TO BE CONTINUED…

Chapter Six

Brogan!


	6. Brogan: Fathers and Sons Pt Four

Author Notes:

Britt Reid (aka The Green Hornet) was asked by Mike Axford to take his goddaughter (and an old college acquaintance of Britt's) Dinah Morrison out for a night on the town. Britt did but not before stopping a wannabe drug lord from importing his deadly cargo into the city.

But Dinah's presence has opened a floodgate of old memories of Britt and his father and Casey finds him in a pensive mood after giving one of his weekly editorials in his TV studio. 

Britt, however, is completely unaware that the night after he left Dinah at her flat, she found an envelope and opened it … causing her to scream in despair.

The following below occurred a few weeks BEFORE the current story line. Trust me, it will all make sense later.

****

The Green Hornet

In

"The Color of Hate"

by R. Cruz

The following is an original story by this author employing characters

created and copyrighted by George W. Trendel. 

Based in part on the T.V. show

The Green Hornet 1966 Ó 20th Century Fox Television – Greenway Productions

**Another challenge for the Green Hornet, his aide Kato and their rolling arsenal the Black Beauty! On police records a wanted criminal, the Green Hornet is really Britt Reid, owner publisher of the Daily Sentinel, his dual identity known only to his secretary and the District Attorney.**

And now to protect the right and lives of decent citizens --- rides the Green Hornet!

****

Chapter Six

****

BROGAN

A Tale of Fathers and Sons

Part Four:

Clayton Moore

Federal Prison Camp

Cell Block E

Cell number 111 was on the eastside upper tier of Unit A. It had two major traits: One, its three by five window received the first rays of the morning sun. Two, and by far the most important characteristic, it is here that Thomas "Tommy Gun" Brogan held court.

Two burly inmate guards stood outside keeping silent vigil, inside one more. Tommy Gun himself, still as lean and as physically fit as when he was on the streets was speaking to a 'newbie' fresh out of R&D, briefing him on the dos and don'ts of federal prison camp life.

"Misappropriation of funds, huh?" Brogan asked the newcomer.

"Yessir," the recent addition nodded. He looked like a thin and frail nineteen-year old. "Lost my wife and kids."

"Really? Don't worry," Brogan nodded at the guard by the cell door. "That's why a federal prison camp is almost like a university campus. No killers here, no rapists, no terrorists. Just white collar criminals, fraud schemers, and ex-presidential aides. People that are either taking the blame for someone higher up or got caught with their greedy little hands in the cookie jar."

"I heard from the guards that the warden here was strict, but fair," newbie offered.

"Don't be stupid, kid." Brogan replied evenly. "Warden's name may be on his office's glass door but I am the true boss around here."

"Yuh … yessir."

"Something in your tone says to me that you're not convinced," Brogan said, while shaking his head.

"I do, Mr. Brogan. I do."

"You remind me a little of myself when I was your age, doesn't he Pete?" Tommy Gun motioned with his head towards his guard. The guard nodded curtly. Brogan's eyes glazed over as he began to recall images of his past.

"My old man worked for Boss Vinelli as one of his buttons. Back in those days everybody was locked in constant turf wars. It was a real mess. I thought my father was BSing me when he told me one day he would be in charge of his own gang.

"Here was a dreamer, my old man, I'll give him that. But he wasn't as smart as he thought. He forgot, like many in his chosen 'profession', that history constantly reminded them that they either ended up dead, incarcerated or hiding out in the Witness Protection Program. I call them the 'Three Fates'.

"Do you know why I'm called 'Tommy Gun'."

"No, sir."

"I am a big fan of history. You know, 'those that forget are doomed to repeat it'. I like to collect 'gangster memorabilia'. The moniker 'Tommy Gun' came about because I have in my personal collection the tommy guns used in the Saint Valentine Day Massacre.

"That's so cool," the newbie was genuinely impressed.

"Yes, but if you look back with the eyes of a historian you'll also notice that it was that massacre that began Capone's downfall. He didn't know it at the time, of course. In his mind he was just eliminating competition but had he the hindsight, he would have not gone ahead with it.

"But try telling that to Capone, eh? He was a multi-millionaire when a million dollars was really a million dollars. Nobody could touch him, right? So how does he go down? Thanks to the IRS. How can he be so smart, so ruthless and so stupid, not to file an income tax?

"And like every other self-deluded gangster since, my father also fooled himself into believing he would beat the odds. It wasn't a surprise to me to ID his body at the morgue and see a frozen look of surprise on his face after getting whacked leaving Dino's Deli.

"My old man had a big mouth. Too big, in fact. So when he told others of his ambition to lead a gang and Boss Vinelli got wind of it …let's just say the Boss had to keep order within the ranks.

"Don't get me wrong, it was a legitimate move on Vinelli's part as head of his gang. Even at an early age, I was brought up to accept my father's 'way of life' and was able to live with it. Had I'd been in Boss Vinelli's shoes, I'd done the same. 

"And I even had a chance to express my feelings to the Boss himself, before I slit his throat with a twelve inch knife. Around that time I was working as a soldier for Vinelli's rivals, the Andino family."

Brogan offered a glass of dark red wine to the newbie, and he accepted it with shaky hands.

"You take the good with the bad and live with the consequences of your decision, that's the secret to life. I understood that the moment I followed in my old man's footsteps. But like every new generation, I wanted to be slightly different from the norm and in order to achieve that I had to learn patience, accept my limitations and make long range plans. It wasn't easy, tho."

Tommy Gun paused as he closed his eyes and sipped the smuggle wine. The smile on his lips said that he was savoring it. "A thief – a good one – never gets caught. Can you guess why?"

"No, sir," newbie replied.

Brogan sighed as if deeply disappointed with his guest. "No matter how much preparation a thief pours into his plan, it's nothing when compared to his plan of escape. That has to be totally foolproof.

"For example; instead of being exclusive to one family, like my old man, I worked mostly freelance for all the families. My priority was college, where I studied business administration, some psychology and, of course, history. Crime is a business, illegal, yes but even the government does illegal things.

"All those things 'omerta', 'made men', vendettas, traditional Italian values harking back to the 'old country' – had its day. Not saying it should be completely discarded or forgotten but for a crime family to survive in today's reality, you have to evolve.

"Today's criminal uses the law and meets in boardrooms and executive suits, instead of sitting brazenly on the sidewalk of a butcher shop and sipping cappuccino. He's educated and knows to use his temper to his advantage, not to explode at the minutest of things.

"During my time as a freelancer I gathered a lot of information on the city's five families and some 'well to do' citizens. Slowly convincing them with successful ventures that we should pool our resources and work together. Bringing in money was the key. It shut up even my most vocal critics. Still some Bosses, of course, didn't want to cooperate. I anticipated reluctance. They cited old rivalries and other lame excuses.

"By then it was too late. With the information I had on them they were either blackmailed to join using the Feds as a club or were simply taken out. I employed both the underground element and corrupt lawmen. It took a decade of surviving assassination attempts and double crosses but before you knew it I was the go guy.

"I became the most powerful crime lord without the title. Hell, most outside the closest circles didn't even my name. I was like some f&*$@ Kaiser Souze. My every word was law in this town! Let others appear on the cover of Time or be called 'Teflon Dons', all that silly PR s&*@.

"But what paradise would be complete without a serpent. Or in my case there were two thorns in my side. One was Dan Reid. Him, that bulldog Mike Axford and his damn newspaper kept sniffing around looking for a sliver of information leading to my identity. A man like him doesn't scare easy nor can be bought. But although he was rich, just like any Joe, he had his weakness … family.

"He had to lose something dear to his heart in order to realize how vulnerable he truly was. It all came down to the go ahead to one of my lieutenants named Cooper and the auto repair shop Reid's wife frequented would secretly have a mechanic 'fix' her brakes. As long as it looked like an accident, the rest would play out.

"Not soon after Reid passed away. Then the other thorn appeared and proved much harder to beat. I have to admit, the title 'master criminal' had been given to him by the news media and on anyone else it would be overblown but not on the Green Hornet.

"He appeared out of nowhere one night and sent word demanded a cut of my enterprise. Through one of my lieutenants I sent word of my refusal and then he engaged in a guerilla war against my operations, one that I must admit, I wasn't prepared to fight.

"The Hornet took apart my empire piece by piece. He is a formidable foe, cross him and you either disappear or end up in prison and my rivals wasted no time and pounced on the opportunity and the alliances I fought hard to forge and maintain easily came apart.

"It wasn't until too late that I discovered that the Hornet had made separate pacts with each of the family leaders, promising they could divide my monopoly over this town and again run their part of the city without my direct influence. 

"The Green Hornet is a wild card that the Five Families begrudgingly accept as a necessary evil to keep each other in check without the need of one crime lord. I heard he brokered the 'Drug Free Zone' rule, too. That green SOB could have been a treaty negotiator for the State Department.

"Divide and conquer … heh.

"Then, just as the noose was tightening on my neck, an anonymous phone call to the new DA Frank Scanlon brought an illegal weapons charge against me. A gun used in an armed robbery was found in one of my personal vehicles. My high priced lawyers, in conjunction with my spotless record, worked hard and were able to get me assigned here at this federal facility."

Suddenly Brogan began to laugh. "Mr. Brogan? Mr. Brogan?" asked his guest, while setting his glass of wine on a small table before him. "What's so funny?"

"Don't you remember I told you about the "Three Fates"? I ratted on myself to the DA and got myself sent here."

"What?"

"It was part of my escape plan. The judge, the warden, most of the officers here are either on my payroll or owe me their lives. The DA before Scanlon set it all up and I hear is having a nice time in that villa on the French Riviera, I provided for him.

"It was a small future investment that allowed me to cheat the Three Fates. You see, I can leave jail anytime I want to."

"Ah, Mr. Brogan, how can you do that?"

Tommy Gun made a quick slashing movement across his neck and the guard near the cell door immediately grabbed the newbie from behind, tilting his head, exposing his neck and with a shiny knife cut his throat. Blood sprayed onto the bed sheets, while Brogan sipped from his wineglass.

"Pete, inform the Unit Officer, we've just had a suicide," he said calmly. "Then get the Unit Manager and tell him I want to speak to him. Tell him I want to go home. I have a Hornet to catch."

****

TO BE CONTINUED…

Chapter Seven

****

"Let's roll Kato!"


	7. Let's Roll Kato!

Author Notes:

Britt Reid (aka The Green Hornet) has raced to the hospital to visit Dinah Morrison who was taken there after a suicide attempt.

Britt, however, is completely unaware that the Thomas 'Tommy Gun' Brogan (the man that murdered his mother and destroyed his father) orchestrated his release from the federal prison camp where he was incarcerated.

MESSAGE TO ICYWATERS: IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHEN I POST CHAPTERS OCASSIONALLY CHECK WITH THE ONLINE GREEN HORNET FORUM – YOU CAN EVEN POST QUESTIONS ABOUT THE STORY FOR ME THERE!

The Green Hornet

In

"The Color of Hate"

by R. Cruz

The following is an original story by this author employing characters

created and copyrighted by George W. Trendle.

Based in part on the T.V. show

The Green Hornet 1966 Ó 20th Century Fox Television – Greenway Productions

**Another challenge for the Green Hornet, his aide Kato and their rolling arsenal the Black Beauty! On police records a wanted criminal, the Green Hornet is really Britt Reid, owner publisher of the Daily Sentinel, his dual identity known only to his secretary and the District Attorney. **

And now to protect the right and lives of decent citizens --- rides the Green Hornet!

Chapter Seven

"Let's roll Kato!"

G.W. Trendle

Memorial Hospital

Third Floor

The smooth opening of the stainless steel double doors soon followed the soft chime announcing the arrival of the elevator. Britt Reid strode out, paused to get his bearings, searched and found the reception desk area to his right. He was headed towards the nurse on duty when the corner of his eye caught sight of a man sitting alone in the waiting area.

"Mike?"

The normally energetic and unflappable Axford responded slowly to the sound of his name. His head rose from the cradle of his clasped hands, his red hair disheveled and his eyes bloodshot. Britt had seen him look bad before during Mike's drinking days but seeing him in this condition brought back painful images of how the reporter looked during his parent's funeral.

"Britt. Dinah … my sweet little girl…" Mike sobbed softly.

Britt sat beside him, placing his arm around the older man's shoulder. "I came as soon as Casey told me," Britt whispered. "How could this happen?"

"I don't know," Mike gathered himself and replied, "She called me not soon after your date. I thought she sounded a bit nervous but she said she was O.K. She even chalked it up to my being over protective again. Britt, did you notice anything? How did she seem to you?"

"She was fine when I left her at her apartment. In fact, we had a great time."

Mike wiped his eyes with a handkerchief and continued, "Her office called after she failed to attend a business meeting she set up. The constant phone ringing caught the curiosity of one of her neighbors a … Mrs. Wagner. She had been close to Dinah's door because she wanted to borrow some fabric softener for her laundry. When she knocked, she discovered it was left open. Something Dinah never does.

"Mrs. Wagner entered the apartment and found Dinah on the floor of her living room – an empty bottle of sleeping pills next to her hand."

"How is she?"

"A doctor Dozier is her attending. He said her condition was stable but I haven't been told anything else."

Patting him softly on the shoulder Britt rose, "You wait here. I'm going to find this doctor and get an update. Then, I'm going to get you some coffee and something to eat."

Without waiting for a reply Britt rose and walked again towards the reception desk. Just as he was about to call the duty nurse, a man with long white coat and stethoscope around his neck passed him. Britt caught the nametag, which read "W. Dozier".

"Doctor? Excuse me Doctor? May I speak with you?"

Doctor Dozier stopped abruptly in his tracks. He was a medium sized man, in his forties, balding slightly. The doctor's eyes focused on Britt's face and then widened with recognition.

"Britt Reid?" he said, while outstretching his hand, "I watch your editorial every week."

"Thank you," Britt replied off the cuff, while shaking his hand, "I wonder if I could ask you about the condition of one of your patients – Dinah Morrison?

"Are you a relative?"

"A … friend of the family, actually."

"Then, I'm truly sorry Mr. Reid but hospital policy…."

"Doctor, I know what you're going to say but, please, make an exception. I've known Dinah since college and I saw her just prior to this incident. One of my best investigative reporters is her godfather and he's sitting in the waiting room, barely holding together."

Sensing the sincere preoccupation in Britt's eyes, the doctor grabbed the publisher's arm and pulled him into a semi-deserted part of the hospital's corridor whispering, "I really shouldn't do this but … sigh … Mr. Reid, Ms. Morrison is alive miraculously. Credit is due to both the neighbor that quickly called 911 and to the EMS team that arrived at the scene.

"They were able to keep her stable but she almost was DOA. We've completely flushed the tranquilizers from her body and now she's resting comfortably. Physically, once she is strong enough I will refer a psychiatrist to talk to her. Pending his recommendation she will be discharged."

"Can we see her?"

"I wouldn't recommend it. For now she is under close observation. Tomorrow, perhaps."

Suddenly a small chirping sound came out of Britt's coat pocket. "Excuse me, doctor and thank you."

Britt stepped away from earshot. He had been expecting this phone call from the District Attorney's office. During the drive to the hospital he had contacted Scanlon and asked that he gather whatever information he could from his end.

"What have you got, Frank?" Britt spoke into the unfolded cellular.

"We need to talk," Scanlon answered matter-of-factly. Britt's eyes widened with alarm, he knew that tone.

"Meet me at my apartment, I'll call Kato and have everything set up," Reid replied curtly, ending communication and immediately hitting the speed dial number to the Reid mansion.

"Mr. Reid's residence," answered the familiar voice.

"Kato, change in plans. I'll be having 'tea' at the apartment in about thirty minutes. See you there."

Now, all Britt had to do now was update Mike and on the way to his loft, phone Casey to drop by and keep on eye on Axford and he then would hear what the DA had to tell him. Britt's instincts told him he wasn't going to like it.

Dan Reid, upon deciding to make a name for himself eastward of his ancestral home in Texas, realized upon arrival that he needed to have in his possession the kind of home that would impress the city's vapid elite. It irked him to no end but there was no other way he could hold important social events and open lines of communication with the upper class and politicos that ran the city --- or as he was taught as a child, "When in Rome…"

During the interview with the vivacious, female owner of the city's most prestigious real estate and interior decorating firm, which catered to high priced clientele, he knew he had found not only the solution to his problem but the woman he would marry.

In fact, in the beginning of their marriage, much of the Reid 'city' fortune, had been made possible thanks to his wife's shrewd real estate investments and ventures. A fact Mrs. Reid loved to bring up and remind her spouse as a way of keeping him grounded when it seemed his head was getting too big during his own successes in communications.

Britt Reid's bachelor pad had been a gift from his mother, one she prepared as a surprise for him after college. At first, when she acquired it, Mrs. Reid was going to allow the odd two-story brown stone be demolished to make way for a multi-level warehouse. Renting it out as an apartment building seemed out of the question, with its location far from any public transportation routes and close to the garment district. While bustling during business hours, the area became virtually abandoned at night.

But then she made a startling discovery and suddenly reversed herself. This decision made many who knew her scratch their collective heads in bewilderment but it was a secret she held, knowing her son and his love for stories of castles with hidden passageways would appreciate one day.

Built during the heydays of the 1920s and the country's infamous Prohibition Era it had once been used as a nightclub. But what she discovered accidentally was that it had been also a 'speak easy', completely equipped with a hidden subterranean level – presumably where the illegal gambling and drinking was held – and two working cargo elevators and parking capacity large enough to hold twenty cars. It even had a block long hidden tunnel, wide and tall enough for the bootlegging trucks of the time, spilling out into a 'Cul de Sac' alleyway.

DA Frank Scanlon parked near the opening of a 'Cul de Sac', leaving his car in the shadow of windowless building. He skirted around a dumpster strategically placed, which covered a small alcove to a door that led to nowhere. He glanced briefly at a battered old billboard announcing a series of articles about the Green Hornet in the Daily Sentinel, knowing full well what it hid behind. Hitting a broken looking doorbell four times in rapid succession, the floor tile directly beneath him lowered swiftly and replaced itself.

Scanlon briskly walked on a lighted gangway that ran along side the vehicular tunnel, leading directly into Britt Reid's den. It was the escape route rumrunners used to enter and exit the nightclub. More modern motion detectors installed by Kato notified Britt of Frank's arrival and by moving three books from his wall sized bookshelf (The Art of War, The Prince Machiavelli and The Count of Monte Cristo) his working fire place levitated and out spewed his partner against crime.

"We have a problem," Scanlon announced. He nodded to Kato, dressed in his butler uniform and accepted the offered cup of tea. Britt was already nursing his own cup behind his desk and as the DA sat down in a plush leisure chair, Kato then served himself.

"What's wrong?" Britt asked. "What do you have?"

The district attorney somberly replied, "The officers that arrived at Dinah's apartment took an manila envelope found on the floor from the EMS team. I was able to look at, since the police captain is a friend."

"What is it?" said Kato.

"A black and white glossy," Scanlon continued, "the date on the back puts it around the time you both were in Hong Kong. It shows Dinah … Dammit Britt!"

"Dinah what, Frank?" Britt demanded.

"She's hugging and kissing Brogan." Britt felt as if he had been struck by lightning

"That's … that's impossible," he offered finally. Britt's instincts had been right but never in his wildest dreams…!

Dinah Morrison and Thomas 'Tommy Gun' Brogan, those two names didn't belong in the same sentence together, he thought. Kato, meanwhile, kept his eyes keenly focused on his friend.

"What are you going to do?" Scanlon asked.

"There's nothing I can do… only the Green Hornet can," he replied sternly.

Kato had noticed that since the DA had departed, his friend had hardly spoken but he chose not to broach the subject until the moment was right. By nightfall both entered the subterranean parking garage, now converted into the Green Hornet's command center. Hydraulic lifts, similar in appearance to those used in modern car repair shops, held the chassis of several black limousine models aloft.

Kato now outfitted in his mask and black chauffeur outfit spoke, "After reviewing the Beauty's onboard video of our assault on Manzanetti's guards, I believe it's time to change her appearance from the Lincoln Town Car. She's becoming too easy to identify."

"Agreed." Britt responded coolly.

"We can go retro with a '66 model or a recent Cadillac de Ville?"

"I'd prefer a more modern look." The Hornet replied.

"I have it," the masked Asian said, while pressing a button on a lighted board.

Latches hidden within the wheel wells snapped open and disengaged the current Lincoln Town Car model as a hydraulic lift activated and took it away. Another lift swung its arms around and lowered a replacement chassis similar to a 2004 300C Chrysler onto what now looked like a skateboard with four thick wheels. The reassuring sound of clanging steel latches securing themselves echoed around them.

Then the two left side doors of the new Black Beauty opened automatically and the Green Hornet and Kato smoothly boarded. The masked martial artist began a swift diagnostic run of all of Beauty's hydrogen fuel cells and weapons systems and was pleased to see the tiny green tinted plasma screen with an outline of the rolling arsenal reading also green.

Meanwhile the Green Hornet began an inventory revision of his own.

"Hornet gun," Britt he said aloud as opened the cartridge of his gas gun and saw it was full. "Check! Hornet sting," Britt now opened and lit the power cell, hearing the familiar buzz. "Check!"

He then turned to his friend and announced, "Let's roll Kato!"

TO BE CONTINUED…

Chapter Eight

"Hot pursuit"

Author's final note: When you love someone or something, you just have to accept the bad with the good. I was a child when I saw GH on TV and while having a bachelor pad with a garage floor that flipped over and revealed an upside down Black Beauty was cool. As I got older, it just didn't make sense.

In fact, Britt's entire apartment (on TV), when given thought, didn't make sense.

How did DA Frank Scanlon get into Britt's apartment from behind that loading area, near the moving billboard and why did he appear to come down from street level from behind the fake fireplace?

Britt's regular day car entering the garage was logical but how really did Black Beauty get behind the moving billboard from that inner patio? And how did Kato drive it back into Britt's apartment?

And speaking about Black Beauty. Comparing the type of car chases of '66 and the one's today (and the common use police helicopters) is it wise for Britt to have just ONE model of Black Beauty?

As a nod to those 'Stingers' that inhabit the Green Hornet Forum online I reworked my personal choice of the Black Beauty (Lincoln Town Car) to be the 2004 300C Chrysler. Too bad they don't read GH fan fiction or if they do they don't acknowledge it more often.

Still, of all the things I strove to make over when doing this story … the one thing I am most proud of was the makeover of Britt's pad and car. I hope what I came up with is more acceptable to the discerning audiences of today.


	8. Hot Pursuit

Author Notes:

Britt Reid (aka The Green Hornet) visits Mike Axford's goddaughter (and an old college acquaintance of Britt's) Dinah Morrison admitted at the hospital for a failed suicide attempt. A call from DA Scanlon has Reid and Kato meeting with Frank, where he reveals that Dinah had a relationship with Thomas 'Tommy Gun' Brogan, the crime lord that ordered a hit on his mother and helped ruin his father.

Now, the Green Hornet and Kato are searching the night with Black Beauty for answers.

****

First, sorry I took so long to post but I've been busy. I hope that this chapter will be worth the wait. Second, I might as well say it now this chapter (apart from the entire story) has the cliffhanger of all cliffhangers. You've been warned!! 

****

The Green Hornet

In

"The Color of Hate"

by R. Cruz

The following is an original story by this author employing characters

created and copyrighted by George W. Trendle. 

Based (in part) on the T.V. show

The Green Hornet 1966 Ó 20th Century Fox Television – Greenway Productions

**Another challenge for the Green Hornet, his aide Kato and their rolling arsenal the Black Beauty! On police records a wanted criminal, the Green Hornet is really Britt Reid, owner publisher of the Daily Sentinel, his dual identity known only to his secretary and the District Attorney.**

And now to protect the right and lives of decent citizens --- rides the Green Hornet!

****

Chapter Eight

****

"Silent Running"

Rigged for silent running, the Black Beauty was a near silent shadow on wheels as it sped across the deserted back streets of the city. In its wake it left a low buzzing sound not unlike that of an angry hornet. Inside the rolling arsenal her driver and designer, Kato, glanced at her rear view mirror confirming his suspicion that his friend was still deeply immersed in thought.

"Is everything alright?" Kato asked finally.

"Hm? Oh, yes," replied the emerald crusader unconvincingly.

"That's good," Kato replied cheerfully. "By the way, Beauty is running low on power. You don't mind if I stop at that station over there, recharge her fuel cells and get a coffee to go?

"Uh…" the Hornet replied offhandedly, "…I mean sure. Yes. Fine! Go ahead."

Kato's immediate response was to spin Black Beauty into a narrow alleyway between two vacant office buildings and bring the dark limousine to an immediate halt.

"What the hell --- what's going on Kato?" the Hornet spat.

Turning around in his seat, the chauffeur faced his old friend and said sternly, "You've barely spoken a word since our meeting with Mr. Scanlon. Our nightly forays are dangerous enough without having you distracted and unfocused. We are not moving another inch until you express what you have been bottling inside." 

Britt Reid knew his colleague and confidant well enough that he would make good his threat. 

"This link between Dinah and Brogan has thrown me for a loop," he began. "I'll admit to that. Since seeing the photograph I've been reexamining that time period between Mom's accident, Dad's death and Brogan's incarceration. But I still can't reach any conclusion because I'm not sure how the pieces fit." 

Kato confirmed that the silence and concentration he had seen reflected in Britt's eyes, was the pain from re-opening old wounds, "Is that why we are heading towards the Yacht Club?" 

Britt nodded, "We're going to see Al Hodge. He's the HarborMaster but once upon a time, he worked briefly as a captain on Brogan's private yacht back when Tommy Gun was playing the respectable businessman. 

"If Tommy Gun knew and met with Dinah it would be some place where he could control access and have as few witnesses as possible. For years Brogan jealously guarded his privacy for it to be any other way. And we can't question him while he's in prison."

Satisfied, Kato turned, placing Black Beauty in gear, "Then we should get there without further delay."

The Hornet placed his hand on Kato's shoulder, "Thanks, old friend. I did need to clear the cobwebs out of my head."

Kato replied, "Hey, when I'm in a life debt with somebody, you get the full package: Bodyguard, valet, psychologist and chauffeur." Both men chuckled lightly as the Black Beauty once again sped into the night.

****

"Bert and Ernie"

The black and white police cruiser was leisurely heading south on 20th and Greenway on the final leg of their patrol. Seated inside were two polar opposites, the Yin and Yang of the 9th precinct.

Behind the wheel, his eyes never straying from the road was Sgt. Hubert Jones a tall man known to his fellow men in blue as a 'by the book' type of cop. On the passenger side was Ernesto Gonzalez: a shorter, dark skinned, gregarious policeman. 

They were also known (much to the sergeant's chagrin) as … Bert and Ernie.

"You know that we're not supposed to hear the public radio over the police radio chatter while on duty," warned Sgt. Jones, without looking sideways at his partner.

"Aw, c'mon. The shift will be over in another fifteen minutes."

"Shut it off!" he ordered.

"More hits, less commercials. This is WXYZ---" The station's identification was interrupted as Ernie reluctantly pressed the off button.

"What the hell was that music anyway?" Jones asked.

"It's a classic," chirped Gonzalez. "Rimsky-Korsakov's The Flight of the Bumblebee by the late Al Hirt."

"Sounded like that trumpet player was having a seizure," Bernie snorted.

"Goes to show what you know about music!" Ernie sighed, "The man was giant standing up there with Louie Armstrong. Remind me never to play his soulful rendition of Ave Maria. 

"In fact, now that I know you're deaf musically, I'll won't share my instrumental collection with you. Especially the London Symphony Orchestra's rendition of the William Tell Overture."

"Thank God for small favors," replied the sergeant.

****

"House Calls"

The Green Hornet was familiar with the layout of the two-story structure with a generous view of the harbor, having visited the place before as Britt Reid. He and Kato found the door into the main lobby filled with display cases of fishing tournament trophies unlocked and entered without being challenged. The sounds of rummaging and cursing drew them to Hodge's office at the top of a small flight of stairs.

From just outside the doorframe the duo could see a slightly balding man in his fifties, his shirttails outside his brown pants, moving frantically from one side of his paper strewn office to another. He would briefly stop and stuff documents into a black suitcase on his desk. Beside the suitcase lay a .45 caliber pistol.

With his back towards the door, so intent was Hodge with his packing that a few seconds passed before he noticed the Green Hornet and his ebony clad, masked chauffeur standing by the doorway. 

"Green Hornet!" he cried startled. Then he reached desperately for his gun.

With fluid motion and dazzling speed, Kato extracted a six-inch dart, in the shape of a hornet sting, from a hidden pocket in his coat's sleeve and flung it. The dart's razor sharp point landed between the HarborMaster's hand and his weapon. 

Hodge barely had time to recover from the astounding display of speed and accuracy when the Hornet shoved him down on his plush leather chair with the blunt end of his stinger.

"I haven't visited you in a while Hodge but don't tell me you've forgotten that I hate guns," he angrily growled. "Especially when people try to aim them at me. I'm guessing you're not even registered to have it."

Britt activated the stinger and it began to whine menacingly, while Kato confiscated the weapon. 

"Cuh … C'mon, Hornet. You know me. I'll…tell you anything just ask…huh…honest," the harbormaster stammered. 

The Hornet deactivated his weapon and said, "Here's your chance to make it up to me." Retrieving the glossy from his coat pocket, he waved it in front of Hodge's face. 

Acting ignorant the Hornet asked, "The girl in the picture with Brogan – tell me who is she?"

"How should I know," Hodge shrugged. "He entertained quite a few women on that boat."

"Look again," Kato warned, raising his arm with another dart in his gloved hand.

"I think this one would stand out," the Hornet continued. "She wasn't one of Brogan's usual bimbos."

Hodge scrutinized the photo closely, then his eyes widened in recognition, "Waitaminit …Deanna? Donna? No … Dinah. Yeah, I remember now. Her name was Dinah Morry-something. Morrison!

"Oh yeah, she was a special one. When she came around Brogan would give her the royal treatment, if you know what I mean. Yeah, she and the boss were close. Real close."

Britt's heart sank, the pieces were starting to fit and he didn't like the picture. But outwardly he maintained his steely composure, "How long had they been seeing each other?"

"Right until he got sent up the river," Hodge replied. "And that's all I know, I swear."

Convinced the man had told him everything the Hornet turned, grimly nodded to Kato and began to retreat. Then he asked, "Where are you going in such a hurry? Other than your professional association with him, you've never been accused of a crime –you're clean. What's with the sudden desire to run?"

"Haven't you heard?" Hodge asked. "Brogan's out of the joint! Word is he's playing catch up and doing house calls! And if I know him …you'll be getting a visit from him too."

Had it not been for the Hornet's mask, Hodge would've noticed all the color drain from Britt's astonished face.

Try as he might to collect himself while the two masked men left, the harbormaster still trembled with fear as he continued to pack. He was moments away from leaving also when a tiny beeping sound called his attention making him creep cautiously towards the cabinet where he kept a small liquor bar.

As his shaky hands opened the cabinet doors, he immediately realized that it would be the last thing he'd ever do.

***

At that precise moment securely inside the Black Beauty, Kato was asking the Hornet where they were headed next, when Hodge's office exploded making the area light up as if it were noon.

****

"Hot Pursuit"

"Sweet Mother of God," exclaimed Sgt. Jones as both saw the fireball rise from the explosion. Without a moment's hesitation he veered the cruiser towards the epicenter of the destruction. Meanwhile, Ernie immediately began to radio base relaying the need for ambulances and fire trucks to report to the city yacht club.

***

Both of them stood helpless outside the rolling arsenal, debris and papers scattered everywhere searching for any signs that Hodge had left the building in time.

"Damn, not even Hodge deserved to go out like that," said Britt.

"We must leave, Kato warned. "The police are sure to arrive to investigate."

The Hornet nodded grimly. "We need to meet with Scanlon. Brogan's release was kept from all of us and this is just a prelude of the things to come."

***

"Sarge, look out!" screamed Ernie. Jones hit the brakes as a black limousine sped out of club's parking lot.

"The bomber?" Ernie asked, as the ebony vehicle began shrinking into the distance.

"Possibly." Bert replied curtly. "Stay or go? Stay or go?" The sergeant demanded.

"Go! Go!" Ernie replied, waving with one hand as he reached for the radio with the other again, "Unit 29 Baker to Base, we're north on 20th and Greenway, in hot pursuit of possible bombing suspect fleeing the scene.

"Suspect is traveling in a black limo with tinted glass, no visible distinctive markings, vehicle has green colored head and taillights. We're gonna need the copter."

"Base to Unit 29 Baker. Black limo? Green head and taillights? Be advised ---"

Suddenly a scratching sound filled the speaker interrupting the signal. 

"Unit 29 Baker to Base," Ernie continued regardless, "we are in pursuit of the Green Hornet!"

***

"Damn," muttered the Hornet. "They're coming after us." Britt hated going against the police. They were, after all, only doing their jobs. 

"I'm jamming their radio signal now," Kato replied, "but not before they were able to call for air support." 

"We have no choice, then" the Hornet stated. "Do it Kato." 

"Black Beauty. Evasion Mode," Kato announced and the ebony limousine's cabin instantly transformed. An extra shoulder strap snaked out and latched onto their seat buckles, on the windshield a red grid schematic outlining streets and buildings with speed, tactical and motion detection info feeds appeared. 

From the black leather backrest dividing the cabin an eighteen-inch, wafer thin, plasma touch screen unfolded halting at arms length in front of the Hornet. Once Beauty was on evasion mode all controls of the vehicles' weapons systems transferred to him, allowing the Asian chauffeur to devote his full attention at piloting.

Kato glanced briefly to ensure the panel giving him access to the "V-194" energy cell had retracted. This gave Black Beauty's already formidable top speed a sixty-second burst of energy not unlike an extra twelve-cylinder engine.

But for Kato's escape plan to work he would need something more, "Give me a clear corridor between Donovan Faust Street and Robert Hall Avenue."

The Hornet's gloved fingers danced on the touch screen, where a highlighted map of the traffic lights for that section of the city was displayed. On Beauty's roof a tiny dish deployed aiming a concentrated radio signal transmitting command codes onto the controller that operated the selection and timing of traffic movements in accordance with the varying demands of traffic.

"I'm in," Britt announced, "Working on the detectors." The city's traffic actuated signals used detectors located in the pavement. Britt ordered all the signal faces to cascade green for twenty seconds on the entire route that Kato had chosen. 

"Ready!" Kato nodded, flipping the V-194 energy cells' red toggle and with a powerful surge that pressed them into their seats, the Black Beauty rocketed away.

***

"Holy @#$% Sarge! Did you see that?" Ernie cried as the distance between their cruiser and the dark limo grew larger. "The damn thing went nitro on us."

Bert silently realized it was impossible to match speed with the Hornet's car. But he also had a desperate plan that just might work. Suddenly veering the squad car in an easterly direction, he hoped his instincts were right.

***

"We've lost them," the Hornet stated.

"Then I'll stand down from evasion mode," Kato replied.

"Not yet," Britt said, as proximity sensor began to flash red on his screen. "We got company. Police Copter."

"Good thing we drilled for this," Kato said. Firing one of Beauty's rockets, even one armed with a dummy warhead was out of the question. The risk of destroying the copter and killing the people aboard or on the ground was too great.

"I'm going to need a few seconds to prime and load the Hornet Mortar," Britt warned.

"You got it. Brace yourself!" Kato cried out. 

Stepping on the brakes, the masked martial artist swerved the steering wheel. First a high pitched squeal then white clouds of tire friction filled the streets as the Black Beauty swung 180 degrees, now heading against traffic. Both knew that the copter could compensate but it would take a few moments. Luckily traffic was virtually non-existent, at this time of night, that Kato had not placed any innocent drivers at risk with his high-speed piloting.

"Guess that defensive driving class from the bodyguard course I sent you came in handy," the Hornet joked.

"I did graduate top of my class," Kato quipped.

Meanwhile, the Green Hornet monitored the "PDS" or Pneumatic Delivery System, as it charged with enough pressurized air to reach the FCC's minimum altitude in order to strike at the police bird. A turntable inside Beauty's trunk automatically slid the rectangular shaped weapon with two rows of three cylinders into position, once the pressure-monitoring bar reached the desired level. Emerging from the same hidden bay door that the "Flying Eye" used to lift off, the Hornet Mortar armed with non-lethal ammunition was ready.

Another sudden, maniac swerve and the rolling arsenal made a feint dash towards the Fran Striker Expressway up ramp, turning away at the last second. This stretch of road ran towards the warehouse district and was clear of buildings. The police bird's pilot sensing an opportunity lowered itself closer to the ground. The edge of the glaring light searched for Beauty like an angry, hovering Cyclops.

"Fire one!" the Hornet announced. With a hiss and a thumping sound, a baseball sized ceramic sphere took to the skies and struck the spotlight's lens. A black paint-like goop inside expanded upon contact with the light's heat. In seconds, the bright glare was completely opaque.

"Fire two!" This sphere struck the copter's cockpit. The goop inside contained a stickier and more syrupy formula than the first one. Allowing the copter pilot just enough visibility to peel away and land.

**

On a side street parked with the unit's engine running idle, Bert smiled at Ernie, "Told you." 

"How did you –"

"You should pay more attention to department memos," he scolded. "There have been reports of Green Hornet sightings off Jack McCarthy Avenue in the warehouse district. It was a gamble they'd head here."

"That's why you have the stripes!" Ernie praised.

"Damn right!" said Jones as he gunned the engine, while the Black Beauty passed them by.

**

"Are we in the clear?" Kato asked over his shoulder.

"Not yet. Believe it or not, that black and white from the club is back," the Hornet announced. The aft camera view framed the police cruiser, strobe light and siren blaring.

"Their tenacity is admirable," Kato replied.

"Maybe our city's finest are taking that same defensive driver's class," Britt quipped. "Kato, how about Operation Kamikaze?"

"Ah, that'll separate the graduates from the top honors," Kato replied. "There's an alleyway over at Gough and Brooke." 

"But it'll be dangerously close," the Hornet warned as he looked up from his flat screen. 

**

"Look, he's heading into that alleyway," pointed Ernie.

"Their first mistake," Jones grinned, "I know that back way like the palm of my hand, it flanks a street with a cul de sac."

"Cul de – what now?"

"Dead end!"

Both vehicles roared into the passageway between buildings, swerving to avoid dumpsters and trashcans, leaving swirling paper and dust in their wake.

"Now!" the Hornet announced. Two slender exhaust pipes under Beauty's trunk began spewing white smoke, forcing the police cruiser to slow down.

"Can't see a damn thing," Bert mumbled aloud as he stubbornly continued to race onward. With visibility down to zero, the alleyway ended abruptly and the police sergeant forced the vehicle into a complete halt as they emerged from the bank of white smoke onto the street.

Just in time to see the formidable black vehicle they pursued with such zeal crash into the side of a building and blow up!

****

TO BE CONTINUED…

Chapter Nine

****

"Requiem for an alcoholic"

****

Author's Final Note:

This chapter is rife with insider references to Green Hornet lore. Can you guess them all?

To: Little Red Head

I haunt the Green Hornet Forum, with moderator Pat Weakley, the other author of fan fiction stories here (if you're not a member of the forum, join us by registering (it's free) and post questions about the story and whatever you have in your mind about GH over there).


	9. Requiem for an Alcoholic

Author Notes:

Britt Reid (aka The Green Hornet) visits Al Hodge Harbor Master of the city's Yacht Club. And not only confirms that Mike Axford's goddaughter (and an old college acquaintance of Britt's) Dinah Morrison had a prior relationship with Thomas 'Tommy Gun' Brogan, the crime lord that ordered a hit on his mother and helped ruin his father … but also that he is out of prison.

Hodge perishes from a bomb planted in his office and a police car near the scene chases the Black Beauty. Just as the Green Hornet was about to escape --- the police officers that pursued them watch shocked as the Black Beauty crashes into a wall and explodes. Or did it?

The Green Hornet

In

"The Color of Hate"

by R. Cruz

The following is an original story by this author employing characters

created and copyrighted by George W. Trendle.

Based (in part) on the T.V. show

The Green Hornet 1966 Ó 20th Century Fox Television – Greenway Productions

**Another challenge for the Green Hornet, his aide Kato and their rolling arsenal the Black Beauty! On police records a wanted criminal, the Green Hornet is really Britt Reid, owner publisher of the Daily Sentinel, his dual identity known only to his secretary and the District Attorney. **

And now to protect the right and lives of decent citizens --- rides the Green Hornet!

Chapter Nine

"Requiem for an Alcoholic"

"It's a damn shame," Ernie muttered as Bert walked up beside him.

Ernie had been standing near the destroyed vehicle they had pursued so relentlessly, while Hubert called in firefighters and EMT personnel. To Sgt. Jones it seemed as if the flames had mesmerized his partner.

"What the hell do you mean 'a damn shame'?" he countered. "One of the city's most wanted criminals got what he deserved ---"

"Sarge---"

"Although unmasking him in public and giving him a long prison sentence would've been more appropriate ---"

"Sarge! If that's a car on fire, how come I don't feel heat?"

"Whu…What?" His partner was right. Standing where they were he could hear the flames crackle but he felt neither heat nor smell of burnt rubber.

"Look!" Ernie cried out.

The edges of the burning husk began to blur then suddenly the entire wreck blinked out of existence. A lightweight RC-like vehicle replaced the crashed ebony limousine. It was as high and half the size of a coffee table, with thick rubber wheels, tiny speakers and a barbell shaped device with colored lights at each end mounted at the center. It looked like a compact mobile version of a projector used in the city's planetarium.

Both policemen stupefied by the appearance of this fantastic device crept cautiously to inspect the apparatus when, as if on cue, it popped with a loud bang and a cloud of white smoke, then consumed itself in a hail of sparks like a Roman candle.

The two officers, their faces covered in black soot, hair standing on its end and smoking, blinked while rubbing their eyes in an effort to see beyond the bright spots that now clouded their vision …just as the EMT arrived.

"What the hell did you mean by a 'damn shame'?" Bert asked dryly.

"It's a damn shame we don't have equipment like that," Ernie replied.

Near the corner of a lighted billboard advocating the new "Jay Silverheels' Miracle Diet", an unidentified flying object hovered like a shiny gargoyle, its camera lens surveying the entire scene. Once the recall command, relayed by the Black Beauty miles away, had been received, the asps of the silent blades that flanked the silver cone shaped object spun faster, tilted and aimed the Hornet's 'Flying Eye' homeward.

During the chase though the alleyway, as thick white clouds from the smoke screen hampered the squad car's vision, Britt released Beauty's Decoy housed underneath the rolling arsenal. Taking advantage of the poorly lit cul-de-sac, the mobile projector had no problem maintaining the holographic image of Beauty crashing and exploding itself against the side of a building. Kato, meanwhile, deftly spun the limousine in the opposite direction, as Britt launched the "Flying Eye", a miniature offshoot of the Predator military drone planes commonly used in warfare and even motion pictures. Although this particular model had been totally redesigned by the creative chauffeur.

"Now, that was close," the Hornet stated as the ebony limousine finished restoring itself from Evasion Mode. "Uh…Kato? That bit with the decoy at the end was an unusual surprise."

Kato chuckled, "Besides sharing their special effects secrets, I'm afraid the frat-house style of humor from my Hollywood students has begun to rub off on me."

Britt shook his head and grinned, making a mental note to issue a check in the Daily Sentinel's name via the D.A's office to the two cops and the helicopter crew's charity of choice. With Scanlon on his mind, the Green Hornet removed Beauty's car phone from its cradle, and dialed.

**"Unwanted Visitor"**

Damn traffic! What the hell's going on? Muttering to himself Mike Axford was in a fowl mood as he got out of the elevator, turned quickly and headed down the spotless hospital corridor.

I have half a mind to call the news desk and find out! Seeing Ms. Case emerge from Dinah's room, and softly closing his goddaughter's door behind her – his mood turned even darker.

"Ms. Case? May I ask what are you doing here?" While polite, the question had just a bit of edge to it. Understanding how overly protective he was of Dinah it was easy for Casey to let Mike's curt tone slide.

She responded with a warm smile, "Mr. Reid asked me to pass by after work and check up on Ms. Morrison. I'm glad to see she was assigned the private room he personally requested." She then tapped a blue, plastic pitcher in her hand, "I was just stepping out to get her some ice but if you want me to leave…"

Mike suddenly felt like a heel, "I'm sorry, Ms. Case. It's … well… You really didn't have to this."

"No need to apologize Mr. Axford," she added. "It's my pleasure. When it became apparent that Mr. Reid would be unavoidably detained he wanted to make sure you knew that everybody back at the Sentinel were watching out for you and had you and Dinah in their thoughts and prayers." Shaking the empty pitcher she said, "I'll be right back with the ice and then I'll leave you two alone."

Mike confessed inwardly that it disturbed him how quickly Ms. Case gained access to Britt. While it wasn't uncharacteristic for a secretary and a boss to be close, however, something didn't sit well with the reporter as he occasionally witnessed their huddled conversations. Axford had been under the impression that the perky amanuensis was just another ambitious and insincere young girl, using her female 'assets' to get ahead. Now, having come face to face with her grace and kindness she, unknowingly, had finally won him over.

Before she went beyond earshot Mike said, "Ms. Case, we've known each other for some years now, isn't it about time you call me Mike?"

"Only if you call me Casey."

"O.K. Ms…I mean … Casey," he said grinning as he slowly opened Dinah's door.

**"Green Hornet Gang"**

"I was about to call you," Scanlon said. Black Beauty's portable phone used a highly sophisticated scrambler making any call from the ebony limousine secure and untraceable. "While you've been eluding capture, I finished a tense meeting with the mayor and police commissioner. We've received verified reports at central command that a masked gang of men wearing green hornet emblems have been seen attacking known organized crime hang outs and businesses."

"What the… a green hornet gang?"

"You heard me right. No deaths as of yet just a lot of wounded but the entire police force has been mobilized and are on the streets right now trying to head off what we fear will be the beginning of a city wide gang war. A gang war started by the Green Hornet."

"It's Brogan."

"That's impossible, Brogan is in prison."

"No, he's not," Britt countered, "Before Al Hodge was killed in that explosion at the yacht club, he told me Tommy Gun had been out for weeks. If you're not aware that he's been released, then somebody in your office is in Brogan's pocket."

"Damn," Frank spat as he wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose. He had thought he had finished identifying and transferring all personnel from the previous corrupt administration. "I'm going be busy doing some serious inquiries and calling in some markers. You, however, shouldn't be on the streets," Frank cautioned.

"Agreed. Meet me at my loft tomorrow around noon," Britt turned to his partner. "Kato, let's head back home and don't spare the horses."

"We'll be there in five minutes," the Asian chauffeur replied.

**"Shanghaied to Church"**

Dinah was standing with her arms crossed against her chest dressed in her ankle-long, white bathrobe by the window, looking out at the city lights. The mournful wails of EMT sirens could be heard turning into nothing more than a distant memory. In Mike's mind he didn't see the mature young woman with sad eyes before him, he saw the precocious eight-year old with twin ponytails, energetically running around, demanding his "Unca' Mike's" attention.

"Casey is a good person," she stated suddenly.

"Yes. Yes, she is," Mike agreed. "You are too."

"Really?" she scoffed. "You still think that even after what I tried to do to myself?"

"Sweetie," Mike pleaded. "I can't presume to know what drove you to…"

"Kill myself?" she interjected, tears flowing freely. "Why don't you come out and say it Uncle Mike? It's easy, watch: Kill myself!"

Mike Axford was an award-winning journalist, a man that could easily communicate with powerful men and the common man but now he found himself at a loss for words. He also secretly wished that her parents were still alive and could give the comfort she needed. That was impossible, so he had to try.

Mike swallowed and began, "We were a couple of years out of college, your parents and I. I hadn't started working for the Sentinel yet back then. Still, I already won a reputation for being a hard nosed, uncompromising reporter. Y'know, they say when you dance with devil, you don't change him…he changes you. It's true.

"One day around summer, I finally uncovered a unique prostitute ring. One that specialized in supplying minors to older men. These were not just ordinary men either some were 'pillars of the community'. Men with money to easily spend on high priced defense lawyers. When all was said in done most of them didn't even do jail time.

"That's when I started to question my purpose. 'What was the point?' I said to myself over and over again while trying to drown my anger with alcohol. Weeks went by and suddenly your father arrives at my pigsty of an apartment and finds me lying on the rug, my face near a puddle of my own vomit.

"He says, 'Come on Mike. You need to shower, shave and put on a suit.' 'What for'? I asked. 'You'll see,' your old man says. After swallowing a gallon of coffee and half a bottle of aspirin -- before I realize it –he's shanghaied me to a church. Now, I'm standing next to a Bishop and I have you in my arms. I was at your baptism.

"There you were: this cherub looking little person, all wrapped up in your pink blanket sound asleep. You seemed so safe and comfortable in my arms. I'm totally dumbfounded, your parents just looked at me and smiled. How could they trust their kid to a drunk? Were they insane? Or was the method of their madness to get me out of my self-imposed path towards ruin?

"Right there before God, I promised not to touch another drop. To deal with my problems head on and not use a crutch. That same night I went to my first A.A. meeting and I've been sober since. The only two times I came close to falling off the wagon was at your parent's and Britt's parent's funeral.

"You know why I'm telling you this, sweetie? Because we're all human, we all will have our moments of despair, and we will fail at times. But we don't have to face it alone. Especially when we have people that love us, unconditionally.

"What you did ... you did. Whatever the reason, it doesn't matterbecause at the end of the day, I still love you. And when I say you're good people, it's because you are …and always will be to me.

"Thanks, Uncle Mike," Dinah said softly. "Thanks for being here."

"C'mere, sweetie" he opened his arms and she went to him. As they hugged both failed to notice the pitcher filled with ice on the table nearby the door.

**"Window of Opportunity"**

"It's a brilliant move," Britt admitted pacing slowly around his desk, a warm cup of tea unattended on it. "By creating a "green hornet gang", he's using my anonymity and the Pact against itself. Exasperating their innate mistrust of each other, he'll fan the flames of a gang war, then simply wait until a victor emerges and take over the whole city."

"How will we respond?" Kato sat across the desk, his own cup of tea unattended also.

"For now: we have no choice but to wait it out. Charge into this unknowingly and we're playing right into Tommy Gun's hands. Meanwhile, we have to find a way to turn this around. How did Sun-tzu put it? 'Attack where they are unprepared…"

"…Go forth where they will not expect it,'" added Kato with a nod.

"Unless I'm mistaken, before things go too far, the heads of the five families are going to demand a sit down to see how they're going to deal with me. If I were Brogan, once they were all under one roof, I'd make my move.

"Kato, it's going to be risky but that will also be our window of opportunity to strike back!"

TO BE CONTINUED…

Chapter Ten

"The Enemy of my Enemy is my Friend"

**Final Author's notes: **

The famous "Flying Eye" makes an appearance in this chapter, and with RC (remote control) technology more or less the way it is today (2004), it's not too far-fetched that the Hornet could have one. Now the Decoy/Projector is a little sci-fantastic but in the spirit of the TV series, I gotta give the Hornet some toys that other people wouldn't have wink .

As a nod to Bruce Lee and the Now Comics Green Hornet version, I gave Kato a special effects 'Hollywood' connection that adds a level to all the 'smoke and mirrors' technology he employs. And also as promised, I'm giving Britt's supporting cast their time in the sun. For the purpose of this fan fiction Casey and Mike are just getting comfortable around each other. They are certainly NOT at the point of familiarity during the series.

If you've seen episodes you'll notice that Mike had two young people 'under his wing'. A reporter who he considered a son (who BTW was scared out of a window and fell to his death due to a trained leopard that emerged out of the Daily Sentinel elevator … and returned into it after the deed was done (I'm not kidding)). And a female photographer who had a 'relationship' with a criminal the Hornet was pursuing.

Dinah Morrison (again for the purpose of this fan fiction) is the 'catalyst' that helped turn a 'tough as nails' reporter into someone with a reputation also as a father figure within the Daily Sentinel.

Finally: Here's a shout out to Harry2 and WSMiller ... HEY! With my thanks and appreciation for your interest and comments on the story so far!

Summer school has got me busy but I'll post new chapters within the 60-90 days time frame as soon as I can. Also as I've mentioned before, any questions about the story or anything else you want to address to me can be left at the Green Hornet Forum.


	10. Gray Areas: A Brief Interlude

Author Notes:

The city is on the brink of an all-out gang war as a group of men dressed in Green Hornet emblems hit organized crime haunts and businesses! Thomas 'Tommy Gun' Brogan, the crime lord that ordered a hit on Britt's mother and helped ruin his father is secretly behind it all, using the Green Hornet's anonymity and a mysterious Pact (GH helped broker), that keeps the five crime families in check against themselves.

The Green Hornet

In

"The Color of Hate"

by R. Cruz

The following is an original story by this author employing characters

created and copyrighted by George W. Trendle.

Based (in part) on the T.V. show

The Green Hornet 1966 Ó 20th Century Fox Television – Greenway Productions

Another challenge for the Green Hornet, his aide Kato and their rolling arsenal the Black Beauty! On police records a wanted criminal, the Green Hornet is really Britt Reid, owner publisher of the Daily Sentinel, his dual identity known only to his secretary and the District Attorney. And now to protect the right and lives of decent citizens --- rides the Green Hornet!

Chapter Ten

"Gray Areas: A Brief Interlude"

Gray Areas

Pop's Liquor Store was a staple in the eastern part of town. Talk around the neighborhood of apartments and low rent houses was that you could chart a map using it as a reference point. Everybody who said they were from this part of the city knew its exact location. Although the simple corner store with brick walls and two large glass plate windows had passed hands several times during the decades, the bright orange neon sign had accidentally become an untouchable example of continuity that no proprietor ever changed.

Within the one story structure, past the seemingly endless aisles stocked of spirits and varieties of beers and beyond a black door marked "Employees Only" lay the true reason the store had survived good economic times and bad. Pop's was also a front.

This innocuous looking store had been a hot bed for criminal activity since the original owner (not named Pop) lost it due to his severe gambling addiction. The store always legally sold liquor but its main purpose was an off-track betting center for the Latino mob.

Miguel spat out a loose tooth, while he rose gingerly on his elbows from the floor and suddenly realized the place had always been a sanctuary. Neither he nor his crew had to be strapped while working here. There was no need. It had never been raided before. Not even by the cops. Nobody was that brave or that foolish. The manager focused as best he could through his good eye, ignoring the pain and swelling from his right.

The entire back room was now a shambles. Tables and chairs strewn about in pieces, television monitors and blackboards smashed. The leader of the five burly men that had charged in and wrecked the room strode casually over to him, the thick soles of his shoes cracking bits and pieces of glass. As he sat on his haunches, black eyes glaring through his mask's eye slits, he brushed over dust and debris from Miguel's blood stained shirt, feigning concern. "It didn't have to be this way," the anonymous face behind the full mask with a green hornet emblem purred. "All you had to do was give the Hornet's his cut."

"I…I…tried to… to…tell you," stammered the battered manager, "I didn't get any confirmation from…my…my people."

"What do you think this was?" he replied coolly. "A social call?" The other five masked men chuckled. "Remind your 'people' that the old way of doing business is over. This city belongs to the Green Hornet gang. And everybody has to pay to play."

Nodding to his men and saying, "Let's go", the leader rose as they began to swiftly file out the door that led to the store's parking and left. Allowing some time to pass, as he gathered strength, Miguel frantically searched for and found his cell phone and with shaky fingers, placed a call.

**"A Spy"**

Tommy Gun has a spy in your office," said Britt.

Frank met with him and Kato shortly after their nocturnal escape from the police at Britt's apartment, concluding that it was the only explanation on how the news of Brogan's release from prison had been kept from him. Scanlon had thought that when he had taken office he had thoroughly transferred or fired those that had been a part of the corrupt administration before him. It seemed he was wrong. A trap had been set and now it was only a matter of time before the person or the "leak" revealed him or herself.

Scanlon removed his glasses and wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose. The past few days had been a strain all around. As his tired eyes scanned the now deserted courtroom his eyes brows shot up suddenly. "Omigod," he whispered softly, this had been the courtroom he had tried his first case as a lawyer fresh after passing the bar. A million years and a few less wrinkles ago, he thought sadly.

To describe the city's District Attorney, Frank Scanlon, you wouldn't be faulted if you avoided his physical appearance (stern looking, thin, middle aged man with thick rimmed glasses and just a hint of gray in his dark brown hair) and said simply, "He's old school." For in essence you were correct. Frank Scanlon fiercely believed in the legal system, which he admitted wasn't perfect, but the best legal system in the world, bar none. He also firmly believed in the letter of the law, and that crime and punishment should be applied to everyone fairly: That a person is ultimately responsible for his or her actions.

But if by "old school" you meant he viewed everything in stark contrasts of black and white then you couldn't be more wrong. Frank Scanlon knew the real world was comprised of many gray areas. While it was certainly populated with hardcore criminals, there were also good people who made bad decisions leading them into crime. His office spy would fall into that category he mused sadly. At least he hoped so.

Good people were also capable of committing unlawful acts, when no other option was available, to stop crime. That level of reality was driven home one fateful night, a few years back, when he a contract on his life failed due to the swift intervention of a publicly known "master criminal" who was actually his friend and confidant Britt Reid.

Scanlon rose from the prosecutor's desk and strode slowly towards the tall window that gave a view of the wide, cement courthouse steps. Smack in the middle of a gaggle of reporters, video cameras and flashing bulbs Anthony Manzanetti was smiling like the proverbial cat that had just eaten a plump and juicy canary. And of course he would since his high priced defense team had been able to punch a hole into the People's argument as to Manzanetti's degree of culpability in the charge of conspiracy to smuggle drugs.

His client, as Anthony's lawyer argued, "Was simply at the wrong place, at the wrong time. The true criminal was the Green Hornet, who – let the record show -- the police allowed to escape." Scanlon shook his head; forget that he had proven that the "Moving Van Company" existed only on paper and that Manzanetti had a rap sheet as long as his arm filled with all types of crimes and with a reputation of drug smuggling in other cities. Anthony's defense lawyer successfully highlighted to the judge that there was no physical evidence that Manzanetti was in reality the owner of said moving company.

The judge ruled insufficient cause on the conspiracy charge, however, due to the amount of illegal substance involved and the fact that Manzanetti had not given a credible reason for being at the warehouse during the shipment, there was enough circumstantial evidence to allow the DA's motion for a postponement. Allowing the prosecution more time to better gather more evidence.

At least the drugs didn't reach the streets and were now under heavy guard in the evidence room. Got him but just barely, Frank thought.

**"Dapper Don"**

As Anthony emerged from the venerable courthouse and descended on the spacious stone steps he briefly took stock of the cacophony of reporters. All of them were vying energetically to get a reaction from him, in a frenzied search for a quote or anything to accompany the newscast images of him surrounded by bodyguards and lawyers, while coolly smiling in his three thousand dollars tailored suit. To his credit Manzanetti kept his mouth shut but it was against his better nature. He was feeling like the infamous "Dapper Don Gotti" and he didn't mind that people knew who he was. In fact, he relished it! 

The door to an immaculate black Lincoln Continental parked at the foot of the steps opened and his guards and lawyers stood back as he sat himself inside. "C'mon, let's get outta here!" he motioned to them. They silently shook their heads and closed the door grimly. If they weren't coming, it meant only one thing: He was going to see the man! Anthony's smile evaporated his sense of revelry filled now with dread.

**"Waiting in the Dark"**

Dinah couldn't hold it back any longer and finally said, "Answer it, please, Uncle Mike."

Axford was embarrassed as his eyes shifted from his goddaughter and the two tall brown bags of recently purchased merchandise and his vibrating cell phone. For the past few days it had been clamoring for his attention but Mike had all but ignored he had it.

"It's just the office or one of my sources," he replied. "Nothing important that can't wait until we put these groceries away."

"Nonsense," she insisted. "You've been with me all this time. In fact, between you and the occasional visits from Casey I've been well taken care of especially since leaving the hospital. It's time you got back to your life."

"But…" he pleaded.

"No buts, Uncle Mike," she added softly. "Please, I have to go the rest of the way by myself now."

"Are you sure sweetie?"

"Positive," she replied with a genuine smile.

"Remember, we still have that follow up with the doctor on Thursday."

"Yes," she nodded. Then Mike swiftly but reluctantly flipped open his cell phone and answered. He mumbled into the phone before his eyes opened wide with shock, "I'll be right there!" As he leapt for the door he paused to kiss Dinah in the cheek and left.

For awhile Dinah kept staring at the door as Mike's footsteps echoed into silence. Then she calmly strode over to her bedroom, flipping aside the frame of a Monet print of a blue sky she favored, to reveal the face of a stainless steel safe behind it. Dialing her combination she moved the lever, extracting a nickel-plated forty-five-caliber handgun with its barrel exposed. She gave a quick cursory check that the magazine had bullets, before inserting the clip and sliding the barrel back into place, loading the chamber. Then she sat in a chair, in front of her bed, and waited in the darkness.

**"Kill You Later"**

It was a majestic view he sighed wistfully. The glass and steel building that was Brogan Tower was located in the heart of the business district. It was one of the reasons why Brogan kept the penthouse office, not just as a luxury. From here he could almost feel the tension the entire city had been under. All that intense pressure clamored for a release. One he would gladly supply but all in due time, all in due time.

A flat screen monitor, on the far wall, the twenty four-hour news channel replayed Anthony's exit from the courthouse. "That has always been your weakness," Brogan announced. "Your ego, your vanity thrives for the spotlight."

Anthony Manzanetti sat quietly in a plush leather chair across Tommy Gun's massive oak desk. "Me? They never see me coming. Never! That's my secret."

"Getting caught in your abortive attempt to begin a drug franchise forced me to accelerate my plans," Tommy Gun continued with his back towards Anthony looking across at the city, while the receding sun disappeared and it slowly draped itself in the cool evening shadows. "Luckily I was able to use your distraction to hide under the radar and return. However, you still must pay for your stupidity."

"You're gonna whack me?" Anthony said with a hint of panic.

Brogan chuckled lightly, "Still thinking too small. Of course not, despite your flaws you still have your uses. No, your punishment for now is exile." He motioned to two guards standing at attention by the doorframe. "Take him to the farm with the boys and keep him there until I call for him."

"Thanks boss, really, thanks –"

"Get out of here!" Brogan said suddenly. "Just because I can't kill doesn't mean I don't want to!" Anthony bowed his head and left without a word.

Brogan as he continued to soak in the view, he received a phone call minutes later from his source at customs baring good news. "That outside contractor you were waiting for arrived, just now," announced the voice over his speakerphone. "He won't have any problems entering the country, as per agreement." Finally, thought Tommy Gun, with that last bit of business taken care of he could tie up one last loose end.

**"Facing the Inevitable"**

"Batten down the hatches!" was the code given by Britt to Casey, which meant the doors to his office at the Daily Sentinel were shut and off limits. No one was allowed in, his agenda and appointments had been cleared until further notice and he was only taking calls from a specific list of people. Working from his flat was not an option. He needed to be near the Sentinel to avail information from its files and sources. For as long as it took he would operate out of his tiny studio next to his office with the only access to the outside world stemming from a private elevator that led to a secluded and separate section of the parking garage.

Britt Reid grinned when he recalled Casey's astonished reaction as he asked to speak to the paper's food critic. He would explain his motives later and then it would all be clear to her. For now he had to continue to concentrate on anticipating on all the angles of his plan to not only defeat Tommy Gun but to do so without the loss of his credibility as the Green Hornet but more importantly by preventing any possible loss of life.

So engrossed was he that he failed to register Kato's arrival via his private lift. As soon as he saw the expression on his friend he felt ashamed. Crumpled empty wrappings of different fast food restaurants surrounded Britt's living quarters and floor.

"This will cost you," Kato said solemnly.

"Can't we postpone --" Britt began.

"No." Kato said with a tone that brooked no further argument. "We are late already. Follow me." Britt rose reluctantly from his desk and went to face the inevitable.

**"Unacceptable Situations"**

"I want him dead, y'hear me! The only way I will live down this attack on my Family is for the Green Hornet to be unmasked and dead!" roared the Latino leader from the southeastern part of the city. The image from a huge wall mounted flat screen was divided into four sections and the head of the Italian Family could see other heads nodding in agreement with the Hispanic man's angry outburst.

"We agree that this situation has become unacceptable," the Russian mob boss interjected, "but what are suggesting? That the entire five families go to war against one man? How do you think that makes us look?"

"I suggest – No! – Demand a sit down," the Latino boss continued. "And not this videoconference bull#&! Up close and personal!"

"That is against our pact," the Asian leader allowed, "It is strictly forbidden that we all meet in the same location."

"Then # the Pact!"

"The Pact has allowed us to operate in this city, peacefully for years," calmly highlighted the Italian Don. "It has been good for business. Making an exception, going against the Pact to settle this situation --- is that how all of you feel?" Once again, all the participants in the conference nodded in agreement.

"Then we've reached a consensus," he continued reluctantly. "Let's iron out the details and agree on the arrangements."

**"Waiting for you"**

Dinah caught the sound but just barely. It was a faint scraping of the door's bottom edge against her plush living room rug. In response she released the gun's safety, and holding it in both hands, aimed it towards the bedroom door. A few seemingly endless seconds later the dark silhouette of a man appeared. His left arm searched for and found the light switch.

A click and the bedroom light immediately illuminated her intruder. It was Thomas "Tommy Gun" Brogan!

"I've been waiting for you," Dinah said as her finger tighten around the trigger…

TO BE CONTINUED…

Chapter Eleven

"The Enemy of my Enemy is my Friend"

**Final Author's notes: **

First, I must apologize for taking sooo long to post a new chapter, especially beyond my own deadline. I approach writing this Green Hornet fan fiction as a labor of love but, frankly, my schoolwork comes first. (I'm happy to report that I have an "A" in all my classes except that damn Algebra! Damn you Pitagoras, damn you to Hell!)

I hoped to post during Thanksgiving vacation but I found what small amount of free time studying for a state license exam (which I took in Dec). Now that I finished this first chapter in awhile, baring any unforeseen accidents, the next one should be up in a few more days after some work (grammar and plot-wise).

That's the other thing I wish to address. THIS chapter was originally titled "The Enemy of my Enemy is my Friend". I chose to post this brief interlude instead to not only focus a little on Frank Scanlon (hoped you liked my take on this unsung character) but to tie up some plot threads I left hanging. For example: the reason of Tony's appearance in Chapter One before we begin Chapter Twelve "The Green Hornet Strikes Back" (the beginning of the final arc).

"The Pact" is something I came up with to address the reason why Britt can function the way he does in this city filled with corruption and crime. I've touched on it before in previous chapters. So far I've written enough that you can get a gist of what it is but I'm leaving the majority of it out in case, some future date, I post a sequel to "The Color of Hate".

Finally: Here's a shout out to Marilyn Clark. My thanks and appreciation for your interest and comments on the story so far!


	11. The Enemy of my Enemy is my Friend

Author Notes:

With the city on the brink of an all-out gang war, Thomas 'Tommy Gun' Brogan, the crime lord that ordered a hit on Britt's mother and helped ruin his father is secretly behind it all. A meeting has been set with the five Family Heads agreeing to attend.

However, Britt (alias the Green Hornet) has been preparing his plan to counter attack. And everything is coming together.

The Green Hornet

In

"The Color of Hate"

by R. Cruz

The following is an original story by this author employing characters

created and copyrighted by George W. Trendle.

Based (in part) on the T.V. show

The Green Hornet 1966 Ó 20th Century Fox Television – Greenway Productions

Another challenge for the Green Hornet, his aide Kato and their rolling arsenal the Black Beauty! On police records a wanted criminal, the Green Hornet is really Britt Reid, owner publisher of the Daily Sentinel, his dual identity known only to his secretary and the District Attorney.

And now to protect the right and lives of decent citizens --- rides the Green Hornet!

Chapter Eleven

"The Enemy of my Enemy is my Friend"

"Again!" snapped Kato.

Britt responded immediately with a lightning quick jab at the punching bag before him, striking it with his left hand, and then followed with his right, jerking it noisily backwards. Both he and Kato were thirty minutes away from finishing a three-hour workout and it had gone well. Being Britt's personal trainer was a job Kato prided himself in since strict instructions were laid out by his friend to keep him in shape no matter how much he might whine or protest.

"You're leaning too far forward, keep your balance!" Kato chastised. "Again!" The echoes of the pounding bounced off the walls.

Just as a late great American martial arts master and action star of Chinese descent believed Kato also agreed that when searching for a method of self defense one employed that which suits one's needs, discarding the rest as unnecessary.

For Britt's specific exercise routine Kato took into consideration Britt's height and strength. His partner's workout began with a brisk warm up of stretching, jump rope, chin ups and a light regimen of weights with numerous repetitions for strengthening the upper and lower body. This was followed by intense drills comprised of a mix of Kempo Karate with Boxing, with Aikido grabs and some Judo thrown in for good measure. All of this with an eye on keeping his center of gravity low and reflexes sharp.

By now he'll be sweating out the cholesterol and calories from those hamburgers and tacos he consumed while sequestered in his private office, mused the part-time chauffeur. That and with a little help later with the special tea blend he drank that I mixed especially for him, he added slyly, Better than a bran muffin.

"Ten more reps," Kato ordered and smiled as he heard Britt's groan of protest.

Content with Britt's progress Kato breathed evenly for a few seconds, and from a standing position, crossed his left hand over his chest to his right hand that rested on his hip. He then out-stretched his arms with his right hand closed into a fist and the fingers of his left hand covering it. Kato's legs slipped into a "t" (cat) stance completing the salute before he started his exercise kata. For a brief moment he glanced at Britt and his eyes focused on the scar on Britt's shoulder. Seeing it sparked his mind to slowly separate from his body as a memory took the forefront of his consciousness…

A Tale of Fathers and Sons

Part Five

Britt and Kato

…Britt stared at Kato's Sifu and his father from his cot with his mouth agape. The humble house he had recuperated in was made of wood and sparsely furnished. His wound had been bandaged properly, and he had begun to eat and slowly gather his strength. Kato's father sitting in the lotus position on a straw mat continued, "Have I said something wrong?"

"Sir," Britt paused as he attempted not to raise his voice and insult the elder gentleman, "Really but … uh …no. I can't. A thank you is more than enough. While I appreciate the intent behind what you just told me … I …can't … this isn't the 18th century."

"Young man, matters as grave as this do not hold themselves to a specific time period," the Sifu interjected. "A fact remains: you saved Kato's life, at nearly the cost of your own, and now he owes you a life debt. His life is yours and he must until his passing accompany you for sake of honor."

Britt tried his best to respect the customs of other countries, a lesson he kept close to his heart as he traveled the globe but this was too much. With a hint of frustration in his voice he replied, "Gentlemen with all due respect: I don't want a slave standing by to serve me hand and foot. I prefer the company of equals."

"Mr. Reid do you not have people that serve you and your father's interests?" Kato's father offered.

Britt meditated on this for a bit. It was true that some ranch forehands and people at the Sentinel loyally "served" the Reid family for as long as he could remember but what the two gentlemen proposed was totally different. "Yes, but they are also paid to serve and can leave at anytime."

The elderly martial arts master then said something that took Britt aback, "Your ki is old."

"Excuse me, my ---wha ---what?" Britt stammered.

Sifu replied softly, "You have an old soul. I felt it the moment you were brought here. You belong to a destiny not like ordinary men. You and your ancestors have always risen to causes much greater than mundane business and profit. And I also know that it is Kato's destiny to walk that path with you. It is not like this hasn't happened to your family a long time before, has it?"

Britt was stunned silent. Was this a trick, some elaborate con? It sure didn't feel like one and how could this old man, half a world away be so intuitive? He immediately recalled his father's tales of the Ranger. Could it be true? Would this be the answer to his lack of direction? Was this a first step leading towards his purpose in life?

"How am I going to explain this to my father?" Britt added lamely. Interestingly, since surviving the gunshot, the emotional reason for their years of separation had been spent, making it seem so petty and wrong now.

Sagely reading the emotions displayed on his face, with the barest hint of amusement both Kato's father and his kung fu master rose. The Sifu turned and said simply, "Tell him it was a decision reached long before you were born."

Standing silently by the doorframe Kato bowed as they passed then entered. He seemed so much larger that day, Britt observed silently. Britt recalled how, as he came in and out of consciousness, asking for his name and he said simply "Kato". Still, despite his average height the young man seemed to radiate strength and power. Like a tiger ready to pounce at prey in a second.

"And do you believe in destiny?" Britt asked.

Kato replied while casually sitting on the mat, "I don't believe we are a slave to it: That we have a hand in forging our destiny. However, I also believe in the possibility of a divine purpose that guides us. Some could call it destiny. For me, it is simply a level of consciousness achieved only through intense meditation. Existing beyond our limited senses and in a reality which we remain mostly unaware exists."

"So I am just starting to realize," Britt said as he gestured towards the door. "They sure don't take no for an answer, do they?"

"I've never seen it happen," Kato added. "They have been friends since long before I was born. At times it seems they know what the other is thinking."

Britt sighed, "Then it seems that I don't have any choice."

"WE do not have any choice," added Kato with a slight chuckle.

"Hah! 'We' it is, eh?" Britt searched for any hint of doubt in Kato's face and finding none continued, "Well, if this is gonna work for me, I'm putting you on the payroll. No offense to your customs.What you do with the money is your business but as far as what I will explain to those that might ask, especially my father, you're my personal assistant, or house administrator or security specialist.

"Hell, all those things, if you're willing. And we are partners: hopefully friends. Contrary to whatever the appearance --- you are certainly not my servant! Are those terms acceptable?" Brittextended his open palm.

Kato bowed slightly and smiled as they shook hands. Then he replied with a phrase from a movie he saw long ago, "Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." For long minutes later the echoes of their laughter brought smiles to any and all that heard them.

"Capo di tuto"

Murder is always bad for business, the Don Vincenzo admitted silently. True: a necessity at times, a reality that cannot be ignored, but ultimately it was simply bad for business. The head of the Italian Family sighed outwardly, his fingers combing his full head of silver hair, making his limo driver and two bodyguards glance at him momentarily.

Murders, he continued to muse, brought the attention of law enforcement and their politically encouraged efforts to maintain their 'numbers' down. Don Vincenzo had not risen to be head of his Family without understanding and adapting to this nuance of his chosen way of life.

Yes, it irked him that he could never aspire to be the 'capo di tuto' or boss of bosses. That every important decision had to be run through a committee but dividing up the city and sharing product and profit had been good. It kept petty and unnecessary gang wars almost non-existent and the city's murder rate the lowest in the nation. Brogan's renewed and desperate grab for power would change all that.

Oh, yes the Don had not been fooled. He knew the infamous "Tommy Gun" was actually behind the bombings and attacks on the Five Family's interests. Just as the Don understood that the only way Brogan's plan was to work was for all Family heads to be replaced by those more open and sympathetic to his absolute leadership. That closed the deal with whatever ambitious traitors were working with him behind the scenes. Trust he sighed again, is such a rare commodity in this ruthless business.

Damn that smug, green masked bastard--- he KNEW this was going to happen!

In Vincenzo's hand he held a small business card with a phone number. An underling of the Don's, whose health insurance scam against elderly victims had been taken apart by the Green Hornet for his failure to include the mysterious criminal in a piece of the action, came into possession of it. The number on it was 555-2899 and below the phrase "The Enemy of my Enemy is my Friend". Rumor had it any attempt to trace it would result in its immediate deactivation.

Don Vincenzo ordered his driver to stop and waited while his bodyguards assured him everything was safe inside the small deli he 'sponsored' then he emerged from his vehicle. He waved the happy owner away briskly, marching purposely towards the establishment's telephone located in the kitchen and placed a call to the person he despised most but could ultimately trust.

"Good ol' Mike"

One of the Green Hornet's info "drop boxes" Casey monitored had yielded results and she had just confirmed the source's id via a comparison of the voice file graph on her flat screen and emailed her findings to Britt's computer terminal when Mike suddenly burst into the office.

"I need to see the Boss," he while walking past her desk. "Is he in?"

"I'm sorry Mike," Casey smiled warmly, happy to see good ol' Mike back to normal again. "He stepped out on some errands."

"Dammit, I knew this would happen. The city is about to go to Hell inna handcart and he's no where to be found. His old man must be spinning in his grave, God rest his soul. This is important! He needs to see this!" Mike shook a VHS tape in front of her.

"You can give it to me and I'll make sure he gets it," she offered.

Had it not been for her genuine concern for him and Dinah, Mike would not have trusted her and waited until he saw Britt. But that was the past, he confidently knew she would actually give him the tape.

"Thanks Casey," he replied humbly, "Please make sure he sees this and soon. OK? I have to go I got another lead I have to follow."

As he left Casey called out, "Mike, how's Dinah doing?"

"Fine, thanks for asking and for your help." He waved just as the doors of the elevator closed. Casey strode to a small private meeting room and placed the video into a slot on the wall. It was a surveillance tape and as it played out on the monitor before her she slowly whispered, "Oh my God." And then immediately began to speed dial Britt's and the DA's phone number.

"A Pawn"

"There she is Mr. Scanlon," the arresting officer beamed. Frank sadly looked through the two-way glass at his secretary (soon to be former) Gladys Pillson. She was a simple, fifty-year-old woman, never married, and totally devoted to her mother. It was that devotion and her desire to insure that her progenitor received the best (and costly) medical treatment for a yearlong sickness that made her betray confidential information to one of Brogan's known accomplices.

The normally gregarious woman was now totally chaste and humbled by the entire ordeal, her eyes were red and swollen and she hardly had said a word since two patrolmen picked her up as she left a diner, a known hang out for Tommy Gun's men.

"She confessed to everything," the young officer continued. "And we were able to confirm with the phone records of calls leaving your office. She even admitted to hiding information about Brogan's release from prison."

"You got everything then?" Frank asked.

"Yessir," the policeman confirmed.

"Then release her," Scanlon ordered.

"Excuse me?" the officer eyes widened.

"I said release her," he repeated testily.

"But sir," the officer protested, "She was caught red-handed, she ---"

"We're not talking about a flight risk or a major criminal here. She's just a pawn caught up and sacrificed in a bigger game officer," the DA added sadly. "An office worker who just lost her job and might be facing jail time. Let her retain some of her dignity and return to her ailing mother."

"Uh, yessir," the young man replied unconvinced.

Scanlon mused that Britt had a reason for allowing Ms. Pillson to hear then relay where the meeting of the Five Families was being held. They had caught their spy but it still didn't feel like a victory.

**"We're ready to roll"**

"So, let's go over it again." Britt announced. Scanlon, Kato and Casey sat around his desk at his apartment's den for their final meeting. "Frank any problems with your end?"

"No," the DA shook his head. "In fact the place uses those removable tags on the doors, which will make our job even easier."

"Remember," Britt admonished, "Your men can't start until after Brogan's men make their move."

"Understood," replied Frank.

"Casey?"

"Everything is ready," she announced as she consulted a lighted palm pad. "As of fifteen minutes ago the small group of technicians from the Sentinel TV studio finished setting up at a conference room we reserved. Once you're finished with your broadcast the video Mike provided will play."

"And that's our cue." Scanlon confirmed.

"Kato?" Britt glanced to his right.

"Black Beauty is fully loaded and her systems have been double checked," he confidently replied, "The target information provided by the Sentinel's food critic has been verified with the Beauty's flying eye. We're ready to roll."

"Then there's nothing more to be said," Britt concluded grimly, "Frank, Casey report to your posts and keep the channels open. It's time for the Green Hornet to strike!"

TO BE CONTINUED…

Chapter Twelve

"The Green Hornet Strikes Back "

**Final Author's notes: **

Now we KNOW Britt has access to legal sources for information via the Daily Sentinel but I always wondered how he (as the Green Hornet) got information from 'not so' legal sources. Even cops will tell you "you're as good as your sources".

The card with the phone number 555-2899 (which spells BUZZ, by the way) is my example of showing just that. You'll also notice in this chapter how important Casey is in the coordination of a lot of things Britt needs in order to function. A role I always pictured she did "behind the scenes" and anybody who knows a secretary or office assistant can attest to importance of these unsung heroes.

For the next chapter it's all action, baby! And if I wrote it right everything I left purposely vague here will come together in a way that at the least is entertaining, at most (if you've been following this story since the beginning) will make sense.

If all goes according to plan it will be the first of the final three-part arc and the story will FINALLY conclude.


	12. The Green Hornet Strikes Back

**Author Notes:**  
**The meeting with the city's five Family Heads is about to occur. Meanwhile Britt Reid (alias the Green Hornet) begins his attack against the "Green Hornet Gang". **

**The Green Hornet** In "The Color of Hate"

by R. Cruz

The following is an original story by this author employing characters created and copyrighted by George W. Trendle.Based (in part) on the T.V. show 

The Green Hornet 1966  20th Century Fox Television – Greenway Productions

**Another challenge for the Green Hornet, his aide Kato and their rolling arsenal the Black Beauty! On police records a wanted criminal, the Green Hornet is really Britt Reid, owner publisher of the Daily Sentinel, his dual identity known only to his secretary and the District Attorney.**

**And now to protect the right and lives of decent citizens --- rides the Green Hornet! **

**Chapter Twelve **

**"The Green Hornet Strikes Back!" **

Anthony Manzanetti pushed himself and the metal folding chair he was sitting on from the poker table and announced, "I'm taking a break."

Pete's cold grey eyes locked with his and challenged, "Where are you going?" Manzanetti shook his head at the few remaining poker chips of his once enormous pile and replied simply, "To the roof …for some fresh air." The other two players and gang members looked at their lieutenant, waiting to take their cue from his response. Pete shrugged his shoulders and said, "Go ahead." Anthony walked towards the metal stairs that led to the second floor roof and softly replied, "Thanks."

**"..."**

The ex-crew captain filled his lungs with the cool night air and let it out slowly. Very. Slowly. Manzanetti had just finished counting to ten. It was the best way to curb his bubbling anger. Now was not the time, he mulled. The embarrassment he felt being addressed disrespectfully by someone would normally be under his command was gnawing at his very soul but he couldn't give Brogan's minions an excuse to get whacked. He had to keep his wits about him if he was to find a way to escape from here. "Here" being an abandoned dairy farm at the outskirts of the city. It was the "Green Hornet Gang's" hideout and the two storied brick structure proved large enough to house all the twenty-five members and its location close enough that it provided a safe and quick haven from their raids on the Five Family's interests.

The city had almost been his, he murmured, as he looked at the bejeweled, lighted structures at the horizon over the tree line. So intent was his gaze, so deep his wallow in depression, he failed to notice the ebony vehicle silently charging up the dirt road and heading rocket-like towards the farm.

"**The Big Guns"**

Luckily for the Hornet, it was a night of a new moon; the farm was situated in the middle of clearing, a quarter of a mile in diameter, and surrounded by trees. One guard, posted at a window where he could see the only road that led to it, suddenly spotted the advancing Black Beauty. He was just about to sound the alarm when the large garage double doors that led to the enclosed docking and loading bay, blew off its hinges -- thanks to two tiny rockets that belched from two of Beauty's now folded headlights. The force of the concentrated nitroglycerin and C-4 explosion shook the entire structure.

As it got closer to the entrance, the Black Beauty's exposed short range rocket panel then launched several canisters of smoke bombs inside. The rolling arsenal smoothly parted the clouds of dust and smoke like a sleek ebony tank, coming to a halt within the debris scattered loading bay. A dazed and confused Pete glimpsed cautiously around the overturned poker table at the metallic beast and noticed a hatch where the trunk was (and where the Flying Eye would exit) open and a tripod-like folding tower, rising like a hissing King Cobra snake, with a Gatling-type machine gun on top. All the gang leader could mutter was a "Holy S—" before the three barrels spun and began to spurt quick bursts of automatic fire aiming at anything or anybody that moved.

Although the bullets were rubber, and the caliber used by police to quell riots, at this range and within the structure, they could cause serious bodily harm. Using the cover provided by Beauty, the Green Hornet and Kato emerged from their vehicle. Under their garments they wore dragon scale bullet proof armor and a transponder in their ear pieces, that would help Beauty's A.I. identify them as 'Friendly' and subsequently make the Gatlin gun avoid targeting them.

Had this been a normal raid Britt would be content to simply use his trusty Hornet Sting like a skilled surgeon with a scalpel. This was more a "shock and awe" type mission and that meant the Black Beauty would bare her teeth and the Green Hornet would bring out the big guns. In his hands he now held a Kato original creation, the Super Stinger; in appearance it was seemed like a hybrid between a twelve-gauge shot gun and an Arwen 37 handheld grenade launcher. Branching out from the same technology used in the regular hornet sting the Super Stinger, however, created a larger sonic wallop and offered a wider field of range. To initiate the reaction he had to pump the forearm on the barrel for the sonic buildup then squeeze the trigger to unleash it. Kato was armed with a Sansetsukon or Tri-Nunchaku, a weapon he masterfully wielded and offered him both long and short range attack capabilities.

Over the bursts of gun fire from Beauty's machine gun the Hornet roared, "Nobody takes my name or my colors without my permission. NOBODY!"

"**Two Man Swat Team"**

As the building trembled from the explosion Manzanetti saw his opportunity and ran across the roof towards a column of cargo boxes that he knew were lined up against the far back wall. Just as the sounds of automatic fire began he leaped and began to cautiously climb down them one by one. Was it the cops? If so, why hadn't he seen or heard any helicopter? What was that booming sound? Anthony crept towards a cracked glass window and peered at a sight that sent chills down his spine.

It's HIM! Over a sea of smoke the Green Hornet, armed with something like a shotgun on steroids, advanced swiftly, shooting those that dared come out of hiding with a wall of thunderous sound, sending his targets flying several feet in the air and landing painfully against the farm's floor or wall. His assistant wasn't far behind and swung three long sticks attached to each other, and flicked them a whip, striking Brogan's men on the ribs or head, bowling them over like pins.

Manzanetti reflectively grabbed his neck, where the Hornet had held him in a choke hold, as he found himself entranced at the practiced ease in which both men would charge, circle and then cover each other. Like a finely choreographed dance of violence, they never let each other out of sight and with their damned car shooting at everything else that moved; it made them seem like a two man swat team. A stray rubber bullet suddenly struck and shattered the window he was looking through and Anthony Manzanetti, crime lord wannabe, turned towards the nearest edge of the tree line and ran for his life.

**"..."**

Elsewhere, Britt's secretary rubbed her tired eyes. Casey knew the old adage "a watched pot never boiled" was true but she was still unable to tear her gaze away from the darkened panel that would light up and relay that Britt's task had been completed. Lenore took a quick moment to slowly move her head from side to side and loosen her tightened neck muscles. The section of the television studio she had allocated was not bigger than a small alcove but it was crucial to the entire operation. Who would've thought? Monitoring and receiving television transmissions, cutting into closed circuit feeds, editing copy…she had come a long way from that naïve girl from the mid-west, searching for her missing brother and a simple job as an office assistant – slash - secretary.

"I always knew you had it in you, kiddo," he used to say. She must be tired, she hadn't thought about her older brother, Robert Case, for some time. One thing was certain; the pain that came from those memories hadn't diminished as much as she thought. Still, had it not been for "Bobby" she would not have come to the city and met Britt …or the Green Hornet.

Suddenly the panel's bright red light began to blink! It was a signal from Britt and the Black Beauty. She sighed with relief, and then Casey quickly poised her fingers over a keyboard and began typing.

**"..."**

Sitting passively inside the trailer of a police department mobile command center, watching a bank of monitors, Frank Scanlon calmly sipped hot coffee. He was a veteran of these types of police operations and he trusted those commanders and supervisors he had helped situate in key positions to carry out their assigned duties, he just got out of their way and let them work. A radio report came loudly over the police ban, "We just got an anonymous tip of automatic fire and explosions at that abandoned dairy farm off I-44!" The corner of his lips curved slightly upward as he heard the Police Commissioner order the SWAT team and a helicopter to investigate. The hospital emergency rooms would be receiving a lot of trauma victims with broken limbs tonight, he mulled silently.

A grey catering van with "Tanuki Catering" on its side now came into focus in one the monitoring stations and Frank called out "That's it, that's the one!" The specially trained men assigned to intervene were given the signal and acted as per their instructions.

"**The Green Hornet Show"**

The tension within this conference room at the city's state of the art convention center could be cut with the proverbial knife. The room had been reserved under the guise of the Acquisitions and Securities Historical Society. Each representative of the Five Families, per previous arrangement, was allowed only one consultant that sat behind them. They were all dressed in formal business attire, to further strengthen their posing as serious merchants. So no one could be viewed as seated at the 'head' of the table, they all agreed to sit on opposite sides and at equal distances of a donut style round table. In its center stood the convention center's modern projector/computer terminal, which had all the standard features like close circuit, cable and satellite TV and DSL internet access.

"We're not leavin' until we agree on a death warrant on that green dressed bastard!" screamed the red faced Sanchez, who represented the Latino section of the city. "It's obvious that he's making a move on us and it's what he wanted to do all along."

Don Vincenzo slowly nodded his head and Tiger of the Asian family did also, they were not so convinced. Nikita, the blonde strict leader of the Russian family scrutinized the proceedings but did not betray her feelings either way. Sandra Puma of the Jamaican family, however, nodded her head, (threads of her cornrows shaking) as she joined in "It's time this wild card was taken out of the deck!"

Everybody jumped as the projection machine activated and on the wall a spinning dark green background with the caricature of an angry hornet flying across appeared. The cartoon hornet faded and the 'wild card' replaced it. "Good evening and welcome to the Green Hornet Show, coming to you live and in color."

"What the #!" Sanchez spat.

"Since it seems my invitation to this meeting must have gotten lost in the mail," the Hornet's tone was clearly sarcastic, "I'd like to begin by showing you something –" the Green Hornet's masked visage faded and a montage of scenes from his raid on the dairy farm was showcased as he continued to narrate. "--- as you can see, I've taken care of the nuisance of that unauthorized gang." The stunned family members looked at the blunt scenes of violence, hearing as the Hornet denounced the misuse of his name.

"It's a trick, this could have been staged!" the Latino leader gestured angrily.

"Oh, no Sanchez --- it's not a trick, in fact this happened just a few moments ago and the police are on their way to pick them up. But wait, I have more!" Now scenes from a security camera near the city's warehouse district appeared and it was clear from the date time stamp that it had occurred a few days before the gang attacks. "Can you see who is giving that thick envelope to the fake hornet gang member in the full face hornet mask?" It was Sanchez's consultant! All of the family heads turned to look at the man who was nervously trying to rise out of his chair.

"The Hornet is lying! That's not me, patron, you know I wouldn't betray you!"

Sanchez to his credit rose to defend his right hand man. "We are supposed to trust the word of a guy who hides behind a mask?"

"Still doubting me? Then let me conclude this episode with this –" now a feed from the convention center's security camera system showed a police bomb squad disarming a five tier cake with an explosive device inside. It was obvious to all in the conference room that it had been addressed to them. Just as quickly as it turned on, the projector cut off.

"How were you going to get out?" Sanchez spun around in his chair, "Eh? Was the excuse going to be receiving a sudden phone call before that bomb arrived? Hijo de puta! How long have you been in Brogan's pocket?"

The Latino leader was livid, his hands shaking, as he rose to act upon his anger but before he could reach his 'trusted advisor' the city's finest burst through the conference room doors with guns in their hands, "Freeze! Everybody is under arrest!"

**"..."**

The Black Beauty raced through the back streets of the city, and inside, Britt allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. Everything had gone like clockwork.

"Remind me to give the Sentinel's food critic a bonus," he said to Kato. "He researched the city's business registry going a few months back and then checked for any catering companies that had taken large amounts of orders from suppliers before going out of business. With all those men in the gang Brogan had to have food stored ahead of time to feed them somehow."

Kato nodded and replied, "Tanuki Catering was a name taken from a magical racoon-like dog with shape-shifting powers better known as the Japanese modern-day god of gluttony, boozing, and restauranteurs, and it was great camouflage. But we cannot forget Mike Axford's contribution."

"Oh, yes," the Hornet agreed, "That security tape he gave Casey from that retired cop turned security guard catching Sanchez's flunkie was the cherry on top."

"Do you think Mr. Scanlon will be able to keep the family heads under lock and key for long?"

"Not for too long," the Hornet shook his head, "they have high priced defense lawyers just for occasions like this but at least my name and reputation is secured and might have even grown more. But since this all began my true enemy and I have been dancing around each other for too long, that was the one part of this entire operation I did not share with Frank or Casey. Enough is enough. Kato, it's time we paid Thomas 'Tommy Gun' Brogan a visit. "

**TO BE CONTINUED…  
**

**Chapter Thirteen **

**"A little B and E at Brogan's Tower"**

**Final Author's notes:**

**I've been gone for awhile and I apologize for that. But school work the past year and other priorities kept me very busy. **

**Anyway: It is not uncommon to add or change to the 'mythos' of something your writing about, sometimes it works (like the animated Superman which had Brainiac originate from Krypton), sometimes it doesn't (like making Barbara/Batgirl Alfred's niece in the terrible Batman and Robin.) The 'addition' of long range missiles, the Super Stinger, Beauty's Gatling-gun with rubber bullets and a glimpse into Casey's origin is along the same vein. **

**The Super Stinger was inspired by the weapon I saw used by Tom Cruise in "Minority Report" - during the Lexus car factory scene - and I thought that was the kind of 'shotgun' the Hornet would have in his arsenal. I hope the reason for them is accepted by the readers.**

**Interstate 44 or I - 44 is really I - "GH" if you look at a phone keypad and a dairy farm appears in the original series, one where Kato comes to Britt's rescue with the Black Beauty.**

**I'll be honest, I love the scene in the conference room with the Hornet on the wall (as a nod to the opening credits of the TV show) since the trick (for me) in any adaptation is to refer BUT update some iconic imagery. Man, that Hornet crossing over the TV screen with the Al Hirt's trumpet playing is something that once you see, you just never forget.**

**Before I go: I'd like to place a shout out to marilyn, Foxfire832001, Excel, TopperKerby, and They call me Bruce! **

**This was the first of the final three-part arc and the story will FINALLY conclude ---- hopefully before this summer. **


	13. A little B and E at Brogan's Tower

**Author Notes:**  
**The 'Green Hornet Gang' has been wiped out and both they and the Five Family leaders have been arrested by the police. Now Britt Reid (alias the Green Hornet) goes to Brogan's office building to face him. **

**The Green Hornet**

**In **

**"The Color of Hate"**

by R. Cruz

The following is an original story by this author employing characters 

created and copyrighted by George W. Trendle.

Based (in part) on the T.V. show 

The Green Hornet 1966  20th Century Fox Television – Greenway Productions

**Another challenge for the Green Hornet, his aide Kato and their rolling arsenal the Black Beauty! On police records a wanted criminal, the Green Hornet is really Britt Reid, owner publisher of the Daily Sentinel, his dual identity known only to his secretary and the District Attorney.**

**And now to protect the right and lives of decent citizens --- rides the Green Hornet! **

**Chapter Thirteen **

**"A little B and E at Brogan's Tower"**

With more and more of the City's criminals using legitimate businesses as fronts and owning offices in modern high rises, it became obvious to Britt that in case he needed to bypass building security he would have to, through several layers of dummy companies, buy or rent office space. By being a silent partner or invisible investor in legitimate ventures, he could be his own 'insider' and he would have knowledge of the inner workings of his targets (or potential targets) and also access to reserved parking structures at all hours. Brogan's tower was no exception and by using a copy of the access key from the law offices of Weakley, Clark and Fox, he would be able to engage in a little B and E at Brogan's Tower without raising any major alarms.

Throughout the ride into the city Britt found himself reviewing his plans. The key to the raids accomplished tonight had been their blitzkrieg like speed, and Britt was gambling that Brogan himself would not expect a visit from the Hornet so soon. Still, something was gnawing at his thoughts. Kato smoothly parked Beauty in a solitary space within the tower's underground parking garage and noticed the look on his friend's face, "What wrong?"

Britt replied, "I'm missing something."

"What do you mean?" Kato asked, "Do you want to call off this part of the assault?"

"No," he shook his head, "the entire operation's preparation and execution has occurred as expected but --- I had a nagging suspicion about this entire thing with Brogan being off. I attributed it to my bias towards him but it's something more, I just can't pinpoint what."

"Then, how do you want to proceed?"

"Remember what John McVitte said at the University of Tokyo back in August of 1981?"

Kato grinned and recited, "In the West you say: My cup is half-full, let's fill it. In the East we say: the cup is half-empty, let's empty it." They each gave the other a curt nod, no further words needed to be said; both now knew how to continue.

**"…"**

Kerby had just finished his coffee, expertly made by the fast fryer cook Marilyn at the RedZorin Diner and going over the Excel worksheets for assigned duties when he realized that his partner, "Topper" (as the young man insisted he be called) hadn't come back from his rounds. The middle aged, portly night watchman called into his radio, "Topper? What's your twenty?" Damn, he muttered under his breath. Why can't that kid ever listen to reason?

Kerby had warned his younger partner (also studying to be a paralegal) that if he was thinking of taking a quick nap he had to notify him in advance so the senior guard could cover for him. Kerby was fond of this easy job of watching monitors at the tower and didn't want anything to spoil it. He was just about to rise from his station and head for the locker room when he felt a needle-like stab on his neck. Before he could question what it was, he felt as if his body had been doused by a bucket of icy waters and then the entire room spun and he fainted.

Kato, crouched in the shadows near the door frame, returned the slender straw-like blow dart deliverer to his pocket and nodded silently to the Green Hornet. Topper was indeed napping but it had been brought on by exposure to a quick whiff of gas from the Hornet Gun.

Britt then pointed the Hornet Sting at several strategically placed "Luger 7"surveillance cameras, facing the lobby's elevators. Using a low sonic range setting on the Sting he disabled them easily. As they boarded the elevator car, Kato grinned and nodded as he turned the private floor access key taken from Kerby's belt in the assigned slot and the bulb went from a little red head to green. Now they would be able to reach the penthouse level.

"Tonight," the Hornet declared, "we end this."

**A Tale of Fathers and Sons**

**Part Six**

**Dan Reid**

It was a modest, mostly leafless tree, on a small hill over looking the Reid ranch, and compared to the rest of the spread you could not be faulting for finding nothing particularly special about it. But Dan Reid knew otherwise. It was a sacred spot because it was the site, during their courtship, where he finally asked Britt's mother to become his wife. For the briefest of moments Dan Reid was his old self again, not the frail and sickly man he was becoming. The memory of that day even brought a tiny smile to his lips, one that didn't escape his son's notice.

"I wish mom were here," Britt offered.

"I do too, son."

"She told me about this spot," Britt said as they both looked towards the east at the first signs of the coming dawn. "Mom wanted me to bring my special some one here, if I ever got serious."

"Someone like Casey?" the elder Reid said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Dad!" Britt chastised as they both laughed softly.

It had been several years since his wayward son had come back from traveling abroad. In that time, after that brief near death incident on the streets of Hong Kong, Britt had returned as a new man. He had taken the reins of the Daily Sentinel and the television station with such purpose and energy that he had succeeded in ways that only made Dan proud. "I like what you've done with the paper and the station," the old man admitted, "You found a perfect way to balance serious news and issues with the puff pieces on celebrity and fame that people and advertisers crave. I couldn't have done that."

"Thanks dad," the younger Reid nodded, "that means a lot."

Dan briefly glanced around at the Jeep that Britt had drove both to the hill, he was too weak to ride on Black Beauty, the horse his late wife had given him. "Where's your assistant, Kato? He's usually close behind."

"Getting certified in some advanced security courses and other studies," Britt replied, "It is part of an agreement we made when we met in Hong Kong."

"Kato…I always wondered. It's an unusual Chinese name."

"Not Chinese, actually; he told me he was named after the Roman senator Cato by his father who is an enthusiast of ancient cultures, languages and history. That Cato was Marcus Porcius Priscus but, due to his abilities as a skillful orator, he became known as Marcus Porcius Cato. The Romans called experienced or skillful men Catus. The Latin word catus means sharp intellect."

"I'll admit, I was a bit bothered by his constant hovering in the beginning and the whole life debt thing but he won me over," Dan added. "You have the brother your mother and I never could give you."

An electronic chirping begged attention and Britt retrieved it and for a few moments he curtly answered. He then clipped it back and holstered it without a second thought.

"I know they are a necessity in today's modern world, but I always hated those things," the elder Reid said. "Are you going back to the city?"

"No," Britt shook his head, "things have quieted down since the Brogan trial. Besides, I'm not leaving until ---" Britt caught himself.

Changing the subject the elder Reid began, "I've been hearing good things about that new DA, Frank Scanlon; the city's going to need more men like him and people to watch his back" Placing a hand on the shoulder where Britt was wounded, he added, "You were right son; things weren't as simple as I thought. I failed to realize that a new type of criminal element had risen. A more educated, more sophisticated kind that expertly exploits the law and is the driving force behind other corrupt business men and politicians using court orders, injunctions and special blue ribbon panel investigative committees instead of bullets. Meanwhile, the average citizen just surrenders to their own apathy, as innocents lives are caught in the crossfire between the struggles for power and avarice."

Britt faced his father and said, "No, dad. You were right. I used to accuse you of living too much in the past but I've come to realize that there's no difference between facing down a gang of violent rustlers on a dusty drag back in the old west, than facing a group of corrupt business men and criminals in a board room. Ignoring a problem won't make it go away. The only thing that has to change is the method they are approached."

"So," the elder Reid grinned, "I take it you're finally ready to tell me why you're the Green Hornet?"

**Velta IO and Harry 2 **

The feed from the 24 hour cable news network played out the entire tumultuous scene of police arresting the Green Hornet gang on Brogan's wall TV screen; it was a state of the art Velta IO. "We don't know for sure what went down here," the attractive, brunette on-site reporter stated, "But we're getting a sense that the Green Hornet has clean up house. Back to you at the studio --"

Brogan felt a pang of sadness as he recognized Pete being hauled away. "Too bad his time out of prison was short. Loyal and competent men are hard to find," he murmured to himself. Not unlike his two bulky security guards that stood outside his office, the twin ex-NFL linemen whom he chose to call Harry 1 and Harry 2.

"What I did to that gang is nothing compared to what I have in store for you!"

The back of Brogan's chair was towards the door, Tommy Gun's eyes widened momentarily as he recognized the voice, and then he regained his composure. As he swiveled around, his right toe pressed a button on the rug, while his left hand grabbed the TV remote and muted the sound. "The Green Hornet… my, my you've been a busy man tonight – finally, we meet."

Britt was a picture of tense calm, the Hornet Stinger uncharacteristically pointing to the floor by his side, although underneath he was seething with anger, "It's going to be a short one. I'm not wasting time with you."

Tommy Gun rose slowly from his chair, his arms outstretched as he addressed both of his intruders, "Look Hornet, I know there's been some bad blood between us but we're not that different. We're both business men at heart. I'll admit I made a mistake when I rebuffed your offer at the beginning of my campaign to take the city – but could you blame me? You came out of nowhere, wearing a mask, without any street creds. It was hard to take you serious back then, who knew?

"If you had been me, you would have done the same. You've cost me time, men and money. I've never had a worthier opponent. But that is all in the past, I'm here, you're here – now – and I'm asking you to form an alliance with me. We can own this entire city in a matter of months."

An alliance? What is going on here? Britt thought -- he's stalling for time! In that instant six men, of similar muscular build to the twin guards they overcame, burst through side doors and formed a semi-circle. All of them armed with guns.

"Work with me or for me or die. I need an answer Hornet --- now."

"Look behind you Brogan," the Hornet coolly replied. "That's my answer. I already own you and the city."

The reaction of shock painted on the face of one of his summoned guards made Brogan turn around and look at the enormous TV screen, almost unconsciously he reached for the remote and reactivated the sound.

"-that's right," the female anchor reported, "This is breaking news: We just got this aerial footage, we haven't confirmed the source. We don't know if it's from a police helicopter – there's no audio - but it clearly shows a meeting occurring between the Green Hornet and Thomas Brogan, a controversial figure in the business world with reputed ties to organized crime. Aside from his stint in federal lockup on a weapons violation, no serious charge has ever been proved. Although this scene will certainly have the police calling him in for questioning and it's a sure bet he can kiss that early release from prison good-bye."

Brogan turned and screamed, "Kill them!"

Suddenly, the lights went off, thanks to a short EMP burst supplied by the Black Beauty and aimed at the buildings electrical systems. Two shots rang out and one of the guards screamed, "Don't shoot you idiot -- you might hit one of us!"

The Green Hornet and Kato went to work. Britt swung the end of his Hornet Sting into the side of his nearest attacker, the force of the blow taking the wind out of his opponent's lungs. As the man bent over, the Hornet smashed his nose with his knee, sending him sprawling backwards. Kato taking advantage of the lenses that allowed them both to see in the near darkness, flung two darts that found their targets in the soft flesh of the back of the hands, as they roared with pain, the master of Kung Fu leaped into the air and swung two kicks that struck below their ears and two more fell onto Brogan's floor. The remaining men, panicked and disorganized, became easy fodder for the Green Hornet and Kato's systemized attack.

The Hornet had just dispatched the last of his opponents with a well executed judo toss when Kato caught a fleeting glimpse of Brogan dashing towards what was obviously a hidden Fire Exit. Black Beauty's chauffer chased after him. This was a risky venture, both he and the Green Hornet extensively trained to always keep each other within eyesight but he also acknowledged that stopping Brogan's escape and capturing the wily criminal would also end the entire ordeal.

Years of intensive training allowed for the exceptional martial artist to catch, with the corner of his left eye, a sudden movement from the shadows of Brogan's adjacent office and reflexes honed to razor sharpness blocked a kick that would have easily cracked his jaw. Kato, however, found himself suddenly under attack by an equally black garbed individual with a full hood hiding his features, and in the unaccustomed position of being on the defensive. A flurry of blows by the ambusher attempted to break through and strike a crippling blow unto his opponent's torso but the Hornet's partner responded by deftly deflecting them all. Still, the force of the attack had made Kato retreat slightly and accidentally trip over some broken furniture, loose his balance and fall backwards. The mysterious martial artist, surprisingly, did not press his advantage. He simply spun and ran in the same direction Brogan had.

**"…"**

There were mixed feelings as Frank, Britt and Kato reflected on the prior incidents while sipping tea at Britt's apartment. "Got to admit using the Flying Eye to transmit that image of you meeting Brogan to Casey back at the studio took him by surprise. Not pointing the Stinger at him made it look like you both are in collusion," Frank recounted, "The Green Hornet gang has been dismantled…the leaders of the Five Families are busy shelling money on their expensive legal defense and you've become a greater legend to the underworld, even the 'untouchable' Brogan has been discredited and is on the run."

"That would seem to be the appearance he's giving," Kato stated. "We did empty 'the cup'." Britt's confidante wasn't buying Brogan's reaction. He also was bothered by the ambush of the skilled and mysterious martial artist and trying not to let it show.

Britt agreed, "You saw him Kato; he wasn't expecting us but he wasn't bothered by our sudden arrival either. No, Brogan's been manipulating this game from the beginning. He played to both my strengths and weaknesses on purpose and we know he had time to study my methods while in prison. But what was his true motive? A grab for power is a given but he always has another side agenda and I can't just simply believe it was to offer me an alliance." Britt's eyes landed on the forgotten photo of Dinah and Brogan and he snapped his fingers. "Of course!"

"What is it?" asked Frank.

"Brogan's always has a trap door prepared ahead of time, Britt said grimly, "The only way to catch him is to anticipate where he will head towards and meet him there. And I think I finally know what his escape plan is now."

**TO BE CONTINUED…  
**

**Chapter Fourteen **

**"Unfinished Business**"

**Final Author's notes:**

**B and E is, of course, breaking and entering and I thought Britt buying 'office space' was the only way I could explain him getting into modern high rises without doing any 'bat' spelunking like Adam West and Burt Ward did. Hey, Britt's got money, so it doesn't seem too far fetched. **

**Now, one Kato scene that I will NEVER forget from the TV show was when he got ambushed by Mako in the "Preying Mantis" episode. He was even unceremoniously placed inside a trash can. My jaw just hit the floor! Somebody got the best of him?! So in honor of that scene I set up that little surprise during the chase to catch Brogan. **

**And speaking of Kato… we fans of this series are familiar with the history that comes with the name (the ever changing nationality) and how now, thanks to Bruce Lee's ancestry and ties to the character the Kato name, it doesn't 'seem' to fit a person with a Chinese background and writers have been dancing around it.**

**Ian Nathaniel Cohen, the author of the excellent fan fiction Sting of the Green Hornet, added Jun Fan to it, giving an excellent reason why. Since my early notes already added various background elements of Bruce Lee's life to my fictional version of Kato, after I read Sting, I thought it inappropriate for me to also add Jun Fan. **

**My inspiration for the name Kato came from an Asian comic (whose name I can't recall) and his routine where he mentioned how it bothered him that people would see him – do the "Wachaaa!" and wave their arms at him – as if he knew Kung Fu.**

**What a typical stereotype! Chinese culture is so rich and their history so full of 'firsts' and their medical discoveries and inventions were occurring long before Europe began colonizing. So, for me, Kato being named after a Roman Senator (I think) adds a layer of sophistication not only to Kato but to Kato's father for choosing it as well. I hope that came across in the Britt and Dan Reid conversation. **

**I also chose an actual horse being a gift from Britt's mother to Dan Reid to give the Black Beauty (that already formidable) car a sentimental value.**

**Since all this fan fiction writing is for fun I've added as many names of the followers of the story into the text of this chapter as possible. It is my way of thanking you all for your patience and replies. I hope the placements didn't offend anybody. **


End file.
